


Trial & Error

by Mickey_Milkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 91,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickey_Milkovich/pseuds/Mickey_Milkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey & Mandy were abused for years as children until their brother saved them. Now, with damage he can't overcome on his own, Mickey regularly sees a therapist who make a suggestion that Mickey will need his sister's best friend's help for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Ok

**Author's Note:**

> This story deals with child abuse. At times, it will be talked about in extremely graphic detail so if you're sensitive to that, I suggest you pass this story up.
> 
> Also, I have no idea if people even want to read something like what I have planned here so please please please let me know if there's any interest in it. Any comments/criticism are welcome, especially if there's suggestions for how I can improve.

_ "Every morning that I wake _

_ I look back at yesterday _

_ And I'm okay." _

-Christina Aguilera "I'm Ok"

 

Mickey woke up soaking wet. The smell of urine was strong and his body ached from how tense his muscles were, but it was nothing new. Most people would be humiliated to wake up in such a situation, even being alone, but it had become something not so much “normal”, but not shocking, either. He gave himself a couple minutes for his body to relax, and then kicked into gear, stripping the one and only sheet off of his bed and rolling it in the throw blanket he used to cover himself. He tossed them into the corner of the room and grabbed the roll of paper towels he kept on top of his dresser, wiping any remaining wetness off of the plastic liner he had protecting his mattress. Too tired to go into the hall to get a new sheet, he tossed a dirty towel over the plastic and changed his boxers before he crawled onto it, relieved that it was a hot night and he could go without trying to find another blanket. He stared at the ceiling, exhausted but still slightly shaky and unable to fall back to sleep. He wasn’t sure he wanted to fall back to sleep, anyway. There was so little control when he was dreaming. This is what he gets, he figured. He had to admit there were nights when it was easier to just get shitface drunk and pass out rather than doing what was recommended by countless doctors, but this is what he got. It always went back to him deserving what he got, because he did. At least in his mind, he did. He was constantly told that wasn’t the case, but he’d learned early on that what other people said meant jack shit when you felt the complete opposite. He felt another wave of tension hit his body and he closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to cry. He did the rational thinking bullshit, keeping his eyes closed and repeating over and over that he was safe in his own room, and he was fine. He was an adult and he could defend himself. Mandy was in the next room, and nobody was hurting her. But he wasn’t safe anywhere. He’d had his own room before and that never kept him safe. He was an adult, yes, but one who pissed his bed maybe not so much on a regular basis, but enough to have a fucking routine for dealing with it. He could defend himself. He stuck to that, because it was true. There was no doubt in his mind that he could defend himself and he found a little peace knowing that. If not with the gun in his bedside table, then with his fists. He inhaled slowly, as far as he could, and held the breath as he counted in his head, then blew it out through his nose at an even slower pace until he felt like his lungs had shriveled up. He counted to three, and he did it again. It went on like that until he drifted off again, lying on his back in the middle of his stripped bed.

The next morning, he woke up to the sound of his sister yelling from the bathroom, demanding that her best friend “turn off the god damned dishwasher” because she was trying to take a shower. Her demand was met with a hasty apology and Mickey closed his eyes as he heard footsteps padding down the hallway toward his room.

“No.”

“No? It’s almost noon.”

“I heard him up late last night. Just let him sleep.”

“Alright. I made him breakfast, should I just-”

“Put it in the microwave.” Mickey sat up and pulled a dirty t-shirt on before leaving his room and walking down the hall toward the kitchen. Ian was there, still in his pajamas as he put a plate full of food into the microwave. He spotted Mickey and stopped, turning instead to hand him the plate. Mickey took it, looking down at the plate and realizing that it was way too fucking early for this shit.

“Dicks?” Ian nodded. “You made dick shaped pancakes.” It wasn’t a question. He honestly wasn’t even shocked by it, he just nodded and walked over to the table. “Thanks.”

“No problem. You want some juice or coffee or something?”

“This isn’t fuckin Denny’s, man. Relax.” Ian nodded and grabbed a coffee cup from the cabinet. “Any plans today?” Small talk. He really fucking hated small talk, but it was normal and he’d grown accustomed to acting normal around anyone that wasn’t family.

“Uh... Helping my sister watch some kids. She’s trying to get a good reputation for daycare and hasn’t quite gotten used to having, like, eighty screaming kids around so I figured I’d go help her out til she gets used to it. After that, work.” Mickey nodded and poured syrup on every item on his plate.

“Club or store?”

“Club. Early shift, though, I’m just bartending.” Mickey nodded.

“You like that better than the dancing or what?” Ian smiled, knowing Mickey was poking fun at him for being, as Mickey called it, a “clothed stripper”.

“Doesn’t pay as well.” He shot back. Mandy walked in wearing her uniform, complete with her hat with a squirrel on it.

“You work today, too?” Mickey asked, his mouth full and shooting small pieces of bacon onto the table.

“Yeah. I’m picking up Cheryl’s shift. You’ve got the place to yourself. Feel free to slide through the kitchen wearing nothing but your boxers and socks like I know you do when we’re not here.”

“How’d you know?” Mickey asked, feigning shock with another mouthful of food.

“I’m just that good. What do you want to do for dinner?” Mickey frowned at her.

“I don’t fuckin know, man, I’m still on breakfast.”

“Chinese, then.” Mandy kissed Ian before walking over to Mickey.

“You don’t have to work, Mands...” He muttered, trying not to let Ian hear. She kissed his forehead.

“I know. It keeps me busy, though. Rough night?” He glanced at Ian, who saw them talking and left the room out of courtesy. Mickey nodded. “You going to therapy today?”

“I’m gonna call him. I don’t have an appointment but I think maybe I should go.” Mandy nodded.

“Come by my work if you’re bored. I’ll give you free food without telling my boss.” He nodded, knowing that when she said “bored”, she meant if he was having a bad day and needed to not be alone. “Ian’s gonna be gone in a couple minutes. You okay with me going?” He nodded, appreciative of her concern. She nodded and took a piece of bacon off of his plate before grabbing her keys from a hook by the door. “Bye Ian!” Ian called out his goodbyes from Mandy’s room and Mickey looked up to see his sister leaving. Once the door shut, Mickey stood to take his plate to the sink, where he rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher with the rest of the dishes Ian seemed to have dirtied preparing the meal.

“Mandy’s gone, you can stop avoiding awkward family situations now.” Ian walked out of Mandy’s room with his backpack on. Mickey avoided looking at him, even though he felt the awkward vibe coming from the redhead.

“You know, if I’m here too much you can tell me. I won’t get offended or anything.” Mickey glanced at him.

“If you were here too much, I wouldn’t care if you got offended. I’d tell you.” For whatever reason, it brought a smile to Ian’s face and he nodded. “You make Mandy happy. She’s happy, I’m happy.”

“So, I make you happy, then?” Mickey fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He looked over to see Ian’s hands raised in mock defense as he headed out the door. “Bye.”

“Later.” He kicked the door shut locking it, then turning the deadbolt, and sliding the chain lock into place. He looked around, trying not to be overwhelmed by the silence as he took a breath and headed to the bathroom, where he immediately closed his eyes in annoyance as cold water soaked through his socks upon stepping inside. “Fucking-” He peeled his socks off, almost falling over in the process, and took a towel off the rack to dry the floor. He glanced at the mirror, which was still steamy, with “I Love You” written in Mandy’s overly girly handwriting. He smiled to himself before wiping it away and looking at his reflection. He looked tired and pale, but that was really nothing new. He couldn’t remember a time when he actually had much color to him. Leaving the bathroom, he went back to his room to pick up some clothes off the floor. He pulled them on and took his toothbrush back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. There wasn’t anything in him that wanted to do anything, but he knew that at least one load of laundry and a phone call were going to happen today.

He hated therapy, but at the same time, it was the only time he actually felt like he got help for what he was going through. Mandy could only do so much and for some reason, he trusted the guy he went to. He wasn’t some old rich guy with a bunch of books in his office who rushed him through the hour so he could go play golf. In fact, he often kept Mickey longer than the standard hour just so he could delve deeper into the man’s mind. So when he called to make an appointment and was told his doctor had time for him that day, he was both happy and annoyed, though he wasn’t sure why. He headed out after putting his newly cleaned sheets and comforter on his bed, sending a text to Mandy telling her he wouldn’t be stopping by her work after all.


	2. I Wanna Get Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being so nice about that first chapter it really meant a lot and helped me want to get more out there.
> 
> Bit of a warning: a few things about the Milkovich past are revealed in this chapter (not in detail) and it's a little disturbing so beware.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

_"While my friends were getting high_

_And chasing girls down parkway lines_

_I was losing my mind"_

-Bleachers "I Wanna Get Better"

 

It happened every time. He would make an appointment, show up, and sit, fucking with his cuticles or biting his nails until Clint, which was what his doctor insisted Mickey call him, broke the silence. It was happening again, but even though Mickey was the one who called for the visit, he still felt too awkward just walking in and spewing his issues. He was never one to talk about his business, always preferring to keep people guessing. For so long, every bit of him was public, and now he had the choice to keep to himself, though he knew it wasn’t always the best option.

"You had another bed incident?" Mickey jumped slightly at the sound of Clint’s voice, but nodded, keeping his head down. "Why?"

"I got drunk." Clint nodded and Mickey looked at him, straightening his posture. "Ian was over again and I got the third wheel feeling. Decided to drink it away. I passed out, had a nightmare, and there you go."

"We went over the third wheel feeling."

“Yeah.”

"Not really a third wheel feeling, is it?"

"Jealousy." Clint nodded.

"You aren't the type to have friends over and have stupid little sleepovers, but you see how much fun she has and you want that. There's no shame in that, Mickey."

“I know.” His reply was soft, and he really didn't want to hear what Clint was saying. He wasn't actually sure what he wanted to hear.

"Have you gone out with anyone since our last visit?"

Not that. He didn't want to hear that. Shaking his head, he continued pulling on a piece of skin by his nail until it hurt so badly that he had to stop.

"Do you plan on maybe putting yourself out there at any time?" Mickey's annoyance took over and he looked at his therapist.

"Why?" Clint sensed Mickey's frustration, but rather than backing down, the older man straightened his posture, seeming to challenge his patient.

"Because you're 25 years old and have yet to have been in a relationship. You expressed a desire for normalcy. Relationships are normalcy.”

"Is that necessary, though? Like if I don't go out with someone, there's something wrong with me?"

"There is something wrong with you, Mickey, that's why you're here. There's no shame in it. I'm a therapist and I have a therapist. Who the hell doesn't nowadays?"

"I'm here cause I'm 25 years old and I'm still pissing the fucking bed."

"You're here because you haven't yet found a way to function living a normal, healthy life. You see someone who went through almost the same thing you went through functioning in a completely different way, and she makes it look easy, and you're sitting there wondering what the fuck is wrong with you that you can't do what she does. Am I right?" Clint never was one to bullshit, which was why Mickey kept coming back to him. He did have a tendency to piss Mickey off, though, and he eyed him angrily, a defense mechanism that usually made people back off. It never worked with this guy, but he still had to try. "Have you tried going out and just finding someone to have sex with, Mickey? To see how that would go?" Mickey couldn't stop the laugh from escaping. He wanted nothing more than to walk out of the room and he felt heat rush to his face. He could only imagine how red he was, but he remembered his past therapy sessions and he took deep breaths to calm down. "It's just a question, Mickey."

"It's not-" he was shaking again, his anxiety growing and mixing with the anger he felt. "I..." He looked away and Clint watched his every move.

"It's fine if you haven't, Mickey."

"Is it? Cause everyone around me seems to think getting fucked will fix me. It's not gonna fucking fix anything so why do people keep fucking suggesting it? You know how fucking tired I am of hearing that I need to get laid?" He didn't realize he was crying until Clint handed him a box of tissues. He wiped his eyes with his hand and sat back, looking away. He didn't even care that he probably looked like a pouty child, he didn't want to look at the man.

"I’m not telling you that you need to get laid, Mickey, I’m asking if you’ve thought about trying. Can I explain myself? Or do you want me to change the subject?" Mickey glanced at him, furious. "I don't want you thinking that what you went through was how it's supposed to be."

"I'm not fucking stupid."

"I know you're not fucking stupid, Mickey, I’m not saying you are." Mickey looked away, wrestling with what he wanted to say in his head. He knew he was opening up a can of worms, but he remembered Mandy insisting that he be honest with whatever doctor he was talking to. He knew Clint wouldn't judge him- he never did- but it didn't make it any easier.

"I tried." He blurted out before he could stop himself. He felt shaky just trying to remember what he was going to say. Clint wasn't pushing, which Mickey appreciated. "I got desperate. I mean, you know I get horny like everyone else does..." Clint nodded. "So I went to a bar to pick someone up and... it was easy. We both knew what we wanted and we..." He looked at his hands and pinned them between his knees so they'd stop shaking. "We went out back in the alley and I started feeling sick. Like, guilty, you know? Like it was wrong and disgusting. I started having a panic attack and he put his hands on me... I just flipped out."

"'He'?" Mickey felt his stomach drop and he looked at Clint, his face heating up. He fucked up.

"I meant-"

"There's nothing wrong with it, Mickey. You don't have to explain yourself. Go on." He sat back, feeling more like leaving now than he did before. He was exhausted and frustrated, which made him feel angry. "You said you flipped out." Clint coaxed, trying to get him to continue his story. Mickey took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face.

"I beat the shit out of him. I mean, he didn't deserve it but I couldn't control myself I just went off. He probably thought that was my plan all along."

"How'd you feel after you did that?"

"Fucking guilty, I mean fuck... He..."

"What caused you to get violent, Mickey? Feeling guilty and wrong is one thing, but something flipped in your head."

"It was dark. He was taller than me... He grabbed my arm really tight and shoved me against the wall."

"He scared you."

"Don't try to justify it."

"I'm not. I'm making sense of your actions, not condoning them. You got scared, you defended yourself. It's that simple." Mickey bit his lip and sank down in the couch. "Have you had sex, Mickey? Willingly?"

He wanted to talk back. He wanted to grab Clint and throw him against the wall and tell him to shut his fucking mouth and stop with the invasive questions, but instead, he shook his head.

"I can't." His voice was so low he could barely hear it himself. "I can't... Watch porn, I can't handle people talking about it... I'm shocked I can even stand getting myself off." Clint was staring again, making Mickey squirm in his seat.

"How do you feel after you get off?" It felt weird to have his doctor talk to him like that, and he felt extremely uncomfortable.

"Sick. Angry."

"Like you did something wrong?" Mickey nodded. "You understand what was done to you was wrong because you didn't want it, right? You were a child, Mickey. You had no understanding of what was-”

"I got off on it." He blurted out. That was all it took for the familiar sting to reach his eyes again. He looked at the floor, failing to stop his voice from shaking. "That's why they liked me more than Mandy, cause I got off and they liked it."

"Where were you, mentally, when they were doing those things to you, Mickey?" He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't even remember it. You know? I know what they tell me happened, but I try to remember and it's not there. Then someone touches me, or I see or hear something and I don't... It's like I don't remember anything happening, I just remember how it felt... It makes me sick. I've literally thrown up because of the way I feel." Clint nodded and took a few notes. Mickey used the silence as a chance to calm down, repeating his breathing exercises from the night before.

"You've had dissociative amnesia explained to you, right?" Mickey looked at him.

"They didn't call it that. They called it-"

"Psychogenic. It sounds more harsh that way. Like you’re crazy or something. I don't like it." Mickey nodded. "Has anyone ever explained body memories to you?"

"No." Clint sat up straighter and put his notes aside.

"It's a theory that your body is capable of storing memories, just like your brain does. It happens to survivors of trauma, like yourself. Your brain shuts down, in a way, to spare you when something traumatic is happening. You slip into a sort of catatonic state and you just let it happen, but the fact is that it's happening, you know? They're hurting you, touching you, you're getting violated, and your body remembers that. So when it happens again, it triggers your mind and it tells you what's happening is bad, because it was bad before. You understand?"

"Yeah."

"Now, I want you to hear me out, alright? If I make you uncomfortable, tell me to stop and I will. Sex isn't bad, Mickey. You're 25. People your age are usually out partying, trying new things, screwing around, being irresponsible, it's just a part of life, but you got dealt a shitty hand, alright? You got mixed up in other people's sick shit and now you're left with the aftermath. It's not fair at all, but it is what it is. You've had these ideas- these sick, warped ideas, forced on you that tell you that what you went through is normal, but it's not. What happened to you wasn't anything but torture, abuse, neglect, and rape. It wasn't worthy of even being called ‘punishment' or ‘sex', like I've heard you refer to it as. Punishment is going to bed without dinner or not having TV for two weeks, Mickey, it isn't watching your sister get beaten because you made a mistake. You can't let what they called those acts define what they are. Sex is normal. You getting turned on over nothing is perfectly normal. Getting yourself off is normal, alright? It's not evil or gross and you're not disgusting for doing it. The fuckin Pope probably does it, alright? You've got some damage you need to work through." Mickey nodded, pinning his hands between his knees again. "What you do have to do, in my opinion, is dig up what happened so you can properly deal with it."

"How do I do that when I don't remember shit?"

"There's reports." Mickey looked away, feeling unhappy for some reason that there was an answer. He figured maybe he didn’t want to face what had happened. "Do you think you'd be up for that?"

"Don't really have a choice do I?"

"You always have a choice." He remained quiet, and sat staring at the ground. "As for the guilt and shame you're feeling concerning sex-" He couldn't help but scoff, overwhelmed with the entire appointment.

"You want me to just fuck through it, doc? Cry while it’s happening like some emo bitch?" Clint shook his head.

"Do you have someone you know and trust in your life? Someone, obviously besides your sister, that knows what you've been through and would be willing to work with you?"

"Work with me?"

"Like a... I don't want to say 'lab rat', but unfortunately that's exactly what I mean. Someone you could freely attempt getting through these feelings with. Someone who would let you experiment and would stop and back off at any point. Someone who wouldn't judge you or pressure you."

"I stay home. Mandy's the only person I give a fuck about so that's not really an option." Clint nodded.

"That's fine. It's just one option and it's not the best for everyone." Mickey nodded. "Time's almost up, Mickey. Would you mind coming in on Friday? I'd like to see you a little sooner considering what's going on." All he could do was nod. "As for the night time situation, I stick to my recommendation of no drinking for a couple hours before bed and setting an alarm to wake you up periodically. Stay away from alcohol."

"Okay."

"I know you're frustrated, Mickey. I can't say I understand what you're feeling, but I understand why you're feeling it. I really do recommend getting the police reports and bringing them here so we can go over them. If you do, please don't read them when you're alone. They can be very triggering."

"Yeah but what if it fucks me up more?"

"Then you work harder to come back from it. You're not a victim, Mickey, you're a survivor. I want you to remember that."

"Sounds like motivational bullshit."

"It is, but it's true. You made it through all that shit once, you're older and stronger now so you can make it through again. Sometimes you gotta re-break a broken arm so it can be reset and heal properly. Remember that." Mickey smiled at the comparison, figuring it was probably true. "You're gonna be alright, Mickey. It's gonna be a shitty process, but you'll get through it." He nodded. It was really all he could do, after all. “I’ll see you in three days, alright?” He stood up and nodded, walking out the door quickly to avoid any weird handshakes before he headed to the front desk and made his next appointment. His mind wandered to everything that had happened over the course of the visit, trying to remember everything Clint had told him and suggested. The man made sense, Mickey had to give him that, and he had a way of handling Mickey that didn’t make him feel like the child people seemed to think he still was. He both appreciated and hated the man, but found himself walking out of his office a little less panicked, even though he knew shit was going to get really heavy really soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, comments and criticism are both welcome!


	3. Breathe In, Breathe Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome and your kind words keep me going, so thank you.
> 
> Little warning: There's some gross horror movie talk in this chapter.

_"Hold on hold tight,_

_Make it through another night"_

-Mat Kearney "Breathe In, Breathe Out"

 

Mickey had gone out to get dinner right before Mandy and Ian had gotten home. In the time that it took him to wait in line at the way over-crowded, way over-priced Chinese place, both Mandy and Ian had gotten home (since the Milkovich apartment had pretty much become his home). Now, he found himself glancing at his little sister and her best friend, disappointed in both of them as they sat intrigued by what was on the screen. It appeared that they'd actually seemed to stop breathing from the suspense of what they were watching. He continued opening all of the boxes, taking a bite out of each one, and then arranging them on a tray to carry over so they could eat.

"Are you serious, though?" Ian yelled, throwing his arm out toward the TV, causing Mandy to jump. "He's fucking her decapitated head, Mandy. Like, not even her eyes or mouth- the fucking neck wound. What the fuck are we watching?"

"Sick, isn't it?" Mandy asked, obviously completely enthralled. Mickey walked over and put the tray on the coffee table in front of them, glancing at the TV again after being drawn in by the moaning coming from the speakers.

"Your sister's damaged, Mickey."

"Aren't we all?" He muttered, walking away from them and toward the hall.

"Not eating?"

"Shower. Save me some. Enjoy your-" he glanced at the screen, confused by what he saw. "What the fuck, Mandy?"

"Right? Fuckin turn it off, man. The acting is horrible."

"It's a fucking horror movie not Schindler's fucking List, Ian, the acting is supposed to be horrible." Mickey smiled to himself as their voices faded the farther he went down the hall. He made a quick stop in his room and picked a towel up off the ground before heading to the bathroom to take a shower. He turned the water on and began taking his clothes off as he waited for it to heat up before he got in.

Mickey wasn't one for long showers, and he had every intention of it just being a quick rinse off. In his mind, the purpose of a shower was strictly to get clean and get out, but something about the hot water coming down onto his back through the massage setting on the shower head made him feel like he was melting under it. It was as if all the stress and tension from the day was being stripped from his body and was sliding right down the drain, and it was an extremely welcome feeling. He thought about it all- about everything he'd revealed and how embarrassed he felt, and about how Clint now knew there wouldn't be a wife and kids in Mickey's future. He thought about everything Clint said and how he assured him that he was normal and there shouldn't be any shame in making himself feel good. Then he thought about feeling good, and he let the water beat down between his shoulder blades as his hand drifted down. He was already partially hard, from what, he didn't know. He figured it was probably the fact that he finally didn't feel stressed for once that day. Maybe his body was thanking him for calming the fuck down. He ran his fingers over his dick slowly, getting himself fully aroused before he picked up the pace a little.

He didn't think of much when he touched himself. It wasn't about fantasizing or remembering a good scene in a particularly exciting porno, the only thing he thought about was that there was an endgame. He had a goal to reach, and it was worth the internal struggle he always seemed to have. It was more difficult as he tried to remind himself throughout that it was okay to do what he was doing, which set him back and frustrated him. He looked down at himself and watched his hand move, trying to imagine someone else doing it. It was hard not to revert back to his default way of thinking- that nobody should be touching him- but he tried, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the cold tile wall, picturing someone else- someone good who didn't have a face, but didn't want to hurt him- causing the pleasure he was feeling, and he found himself even more turned on, like he'd been doing it wrong all along and this was what he'd been missing. He found himself unable to keep his hips from moving against his hand as he thrust into his fist, and he bit his lip to keep quiet, forcing his train of thoughts to remain positive as he got closer. He opened his mouth and water dripped in from the back of his head where the spray was now hitting and he spit it out, moving his hand faster. He kept from moaning as he felt his orgasm approaching and was prepared for it to hit when he heard Ian half whine/half moan his name from the other side of the door. Mickey gasped in shock and sighed as he came against the wall, making his knees buckle. He quickly cleared his throat in and attempt to cover the noise he'd made, praying to whatever God there was the Ian hadn't heard it.

"What?!"

"I think I left my phone in there." Mickey gave himself a few more long, slow strokes as Ian continued talking before he even bothered to open the curtain and look for the phone. It was sitting on the back of the toilet so Mickey made sure to clean the shower up before turning the water off and wrapping his towel around his waist. He grabbed his dirty clothes and opened the door. Ian was against the wall on the opposite side of the hall, making sure to give Mickey space. Ian avoided looking at his best friend's half naked brother as well, which Mickey appreciated.

"On the toilet."

"Thanks." Mickey made it to his room, the wad of dirty clothes in his hand hiding his still half-hard dick. He tossed them to the ground and fell back onto his bed, reaching under his towel to rub himself until he'd come all the way down from his high. Staring at the ceiling, he couldn't help but laugh to himself, thinking about how his sister's idiot best friend almost ruined one of the best, most relaxing orgasms he'd ever had. He didn't think about the lack of shame he felt this time, or the absence of the dull nauseous feeling he usually got in the pit of his stomach after he rubbed one out, he was just slightly embarrassed and worried that Ian may have gotten a bit of an earful. Part of him was excited by the thought of him actually hearing and he wasn’t sure why, but in the end he decided not to ask or mention it to the redhead. Instead, he let his body calm down a little before pulling some pajama pants and a tank top on and heading to the living room.

When he looked at the screen this time, two women fought in an extremely overly dramatic fashion over their sons, who apparently had fought. It was like a bad soap opera with blood. He sat down on the couch with Mandy and Ian, leaned forward and grabbed a box of orange chicken, taking one of the used forks from the table so he could eat. The food was cold now, but he was never really one to be picky about what he ate.

"I miss much?"

"His brother's decapitating black people cause he's a racist piece of shit. He's pissed off cause everyone's picking on him. They saved a lot of money by hiring people who apparently aren’t even actors cause god damn." Mandy explained. Mickey nodded and shoved more chicken in his mouth.

"Mands I gotta knock out early. Gotta open at the store tomorrow. That cool?" Mickey looked over to see his sister roll her eyes.

"No, Ian. I want you awake to entertain me. Get up and dance, monkey." Ian smiled and got up. Mickey watched as he slung his leg around, sliding into Mandy's lap somewhat seductively before giving her a quick peck on the cheek and getting back to his feet. Mandy slapped his ass, making him yelp and hop away. "Night, ass."

"Night, Mandy. Night Mick."

"Night." Mickey glanced back to make sure Ian was gone before looking at his sister. "It doesn't bother you when he does that shit?" She looked at him and shook her head.

"You know why he and I are friends, Mick? Freshman year, he sat behind me in English, and our teacher would walk around lecturing us. He'd stop next to my desk with his dick in my face and Ian saw how much it bothered me. So he tripped the motherfucker and broke his tailbone. The only person on this planet I feel safe around besides you is him." Micky couldn't help but smile, feeling a little more respect toward him. "How'd the doctor go?" Mickey shook his head, his happiness suddenly diminishing.

"He wants me to file a request for a copy of the police reports so we can go over everything that happened, since I don't remember it." She hadn't looked away from him and her staring was starting to make him uncomfortable.

"Are you gonna do it?" He nodded before he had a chance to think about it. "Maybe it'll be good to know."

"Well, you remember shit. How's that working for you?"

"Well I know what to avoid and how to deal with it if I can't avoid it so... I think it's working out pretty well." He nodded and looked back at the TV when he heard a woman screaming for help. Mandy took it upon herself to turn it off, but Mickey's eyes remained glued to the screen.

"He's set on me pushing my limits." He was embarrassed to talk about this aspect of his life, even with Mandy, and he kept his head down as he spoke. "Asked me if I had someone I could 'experiment' with. Like, sex."

"How do we feel about that?" He smiled.

"We realized we're a loner for the most part and have nobody who meets the criteria." Mandy nodded.

"There's other ways, Mick. Don't get discouraged."

"I'm not. I think I'm gonna file the request tonight. Get them to me ASAP so I can get started fucking myself up further. It's gonna be a good time." He tried to muster up some false enthusiasm but he couldn't. He just ended up sounding broken, which he hated, but he found himself willingly leaning against Mandy as she pulled him closer and rubbed his arm.

"You're gonna be alright, Mickey." All he could do was nod. His frustration and anger was welling up and he knew he was probably in for a rough night.

"You got anything I can take?" She nodded.

"C'mon." She pulled on his arm, leading him to her room. "Hey, assface." Ian looked over from his spot on her bed and Mickey glanced over, seeing the tattoo on Ian's ribs for the first time. "Mickey needs some candy, I know you've got some." Ian looked at Mickey.

"What do you need?"

“Uninterrupted sleep.” Ian nodded and got out of bed. Mickey allowed himself to look Ian up and down one time, since he was in his underwear, and then he looked away. He could understand why he was paid to take his clothes off, as he obviously put work into his body. Before he could think much more about it, Ian held out a prescription bottle.

“Take two.” Mickey opened the bottle and took a couple out. “Don’t drive, alright? You’re gonna get loopy.”

“What is it?” Mandy sounded concerned and Mickey smiled at her, enjoying her motherly instincts.

“Just anxiety pills. Don’t dry swallow them, either, they taste like shit, you’ll never get the taste out of your mouth.” Mickey nodded.

"Thanks."

"Help yourself whenever. I keep them in Mandy's panty drawer. Next to the giant black dildo she claims to have because it was a gag gift." Mandy slapped Ian in the back of his head rather hard and he laughed, crawling back onto Mandy's bed. Mickey hadn’t realized he’d been watching him until Mandy pulled him into a tight hug.

"Bathroom." She reminded. He nodded.

"When'd he get a tattoo?"

"Last week. It's gross and crusty. I hate it.

"What is it?" Ian looked at him.

"An eagle."

"With a gun, you redneck piece of shit." Mickey kissed her hair and shoved her away roughly, making both her and Ian laugh as she tried to catch her balance. He nodded toward Ian in thanks again, getting a nod in return before he left the room. The thought of the problems the pills might cause was only fleeting and he took both of them with a swig of flat beer before throwing himself on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He gave himself a couple minutes before he got back up to grab his laptop and file a request for the reports that he needed.

After paying with his debit card, he was informed that it could take a couple weeks alone to process the reports, which he was partially grateful for, as it meant he had more time to avoid the inevitable. He hadn't realized he was dozing off, but he had, only to wake up soaking wet with his heart racing so fast that it hurt. In front of him, sitting on the floor next to a broken lamp that had apparently fallen to the ground somehow, was Ian, wiping blood away from his nose, and staring at Mickey like he was a wild animal that had just gotten loose.


	4. Photograph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just putting out there that I have absolutely no idea how obtaining copies of police reports goes, but luckily for my ignorant ass, this is called fan FICTION and in my little fictional world, whatever I say goes, and that's how it is. So sit back, forget how the world actually works, and enjoy a land where everything is as convenient as I need it to be.

_"I swear it will get easier_

_Remember that with every piece of ya_ _"_

-Ed Sheeran "Photograph"

 

Mandy had come in at some point. He didn’t remember seeing her enter his room, he was just focused on Ian bleeding in front of him, the look of fear on the redhead’s face, and the overwhelming sense of guilt that took over him. He had blood on his knuckles and palms. Looking closer, he saw that blood was smeared on Ian’s throat. He ignored his sister’s voice in order to piece it together. He’d hit Ian, there was some kind of struggle, and at some point, his hands were around Ian’s throat. It wasn’t okay. This was Ian, who tucked his feet under his chair at dinner so he didn’t accidentally touch Mickey. Ian, who seriously injured a man for simply making Mandy uncomfortable and used whatever tip money he got from shaking his ass at a bar to buy groceries and make dinner for them.

He heard himself apologizing, but he didn’t feel like he was talking. Ian told him it was okay as many times as Mickey apologized and he stayed where he was, not even trying to leave the room. Mandy grabbed Mickey’s face and forced him to look at her.

“Mickey. Do you hear me?” He nodded. “He’s okay. Are you okay?” He stopped nodding and shook his head. “You know what happened?”

“No. Fuck, I’m sorry, Ian-”

“I’m fine, Mickey. I got an older brother and junkie dad I can take a few punches.” Even in this kind of situation, Ian tried to keep it light. It didn’t make Mickey feel any better.

“You were talking in your sleep. He tried to wake you up and you panicked, that’s all. Everything’s fine.” Mandy explained.

“He’s fucking bleeding!”

“You hit hard, of course I’m bleeding. I’m fucking fine, Mickey. Nothing’s broken. We’re good. Don’t worry about me, just try to calm down. You aren’t breathing right.” Ian wiped more blood from his nose. “I’m gonna go jam a tampon or something in here to stop the bleeding.”

“Go for a light one, you don’t want toxic shock syndrome.”

“The fuck is that?” Ian called from the hall. Mickey didn’t even remember seeing him get up and leave. Their fucking banter was both soothing and annoying. This was serious, but they were making it seem alright, which he supposed he needed. He didn’t know how to feel.

“Breathe.” Mandy said. It was automatic at this point. When she said that word, he went right into his breathing exercises and calmed down in less than a minute. He wondered why he wasn’t able to just kick himself into breathing right without having to have her tell him to. It was frustrating.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Ian at his bed, pulling the sheets off. A shock went through him and he moved to stop him, but Mandy held him in place.

“You’re fucking shaking, Mickey, just sit for a minute.”

“Don’t do that. Just-” Mickey was humiliated and wanted to cry knowing that someone besides himself or his sister witnessed such an embarrassing problem.

“Already done.” Ian said, grabbing the wet sheets from the ground with his hands as if they weren’t soaked in urine. He walked out of the room and Mickey kept his head down, closing his eyes again to breathe through it.

“Don’t let him in here when this happens.” He pleaded, flinching as Mandy’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him closer.

“Mickey, I want you to ask yourself what kind of people I allow in my life.”

“None.”

“None.” She confirmed. “You and I are fucked up individuals that nobody understands, unless, of course, they’re equally as fucked up. What do you know about Ian?”

“I don’t want to talk about Ian.”

“We’re going to. He’s been my best friend for almost ten years. He was my boyfriend for like a week, even. Before about five years ago, he was never allowed to come to our place. Do you know why?” Mickey looked at her. “He wasn’t fucked up enough yet.” Maybe it was the chaos, or the fact that it was 2am, but Mickey didn’t understand and his face apparently conveyed that. “Ian’s got a screwed up family, but that wasn’t enough for me to trust him not to judge us. But five years ago, he went batshit crazy. He kidnapped his little brother and drove halfway across the country with him. The cops caught him, arrested him, and threw him in the nuthouse for two weeks while they figured out what kind of meds he needed to be on.”

That explained the pills, Mickey thought.

“Did he hurt his brother?”

“Mickey, he won’t even raise his voice to that kid. He did so much to take care of him while he had him, the kid probably weighed more when the cops took him than he did when Ian took him. That’s not the point, though. My point is, you could strip off all your clothes, shit into your hand, and throw it in his face while chanting about Jesus and fisting, and he wouldn’t judge you. He fucking gets it, alright? He doesn’t ask questions about why you do the things you do, he doesn’t laugh about anything. He’s a good person. So don’t freak out when he wants to help, cause he’s gonna be here a lot more from now on.”

“Why?”

“He can’t afford his apartment anymore. He needs a place to stay so he’s gonna help with rent.”

“We don’t need fucking help with rent, Mandy.”

“Well he fucking does, and as I said, he’s a good fucking person and I want him here, so don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not being a dick, I don’t care, I just don’t get why you act like we don’t have money.”

“I know we have money.”

“I made coffee in case you guys wanted to stay up.” Ian said, poking his head in the room. Mickey looked up at him.

“You have a fucking tampon in your nose.” He said. Ian nodded, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Mickey muttered, shaking his head. He nudged Mandy to get out so he could change, and she got the hint, kissing his cheek before leaving and closing the door behind her.

 

**-FRIDAY-**

 

“I requested the reports. There were a lot of them.”

“Did it give you a date?”

“At least two weeks for processing. I didn’t know it would take that long.” 

“Do you have the information from the order? Maybe I can send them an email and see if we can get them faster.” He said.

“I have the receipt in my room, I can email it to you.” Mickey replied. Clint nodded in return.

“I’ll tell them it’s extremely important that we get them as soon as possible.” Mickey bit his lip, not wanting to bring up his last outburst, but he knew it would come up eventually.

“I punched Ian in the face.” He blurted out. Clint looked up from what he was writing and stared at him in shock.

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything. Tried helping me out when he heard me freaking out in my sleep and I woke up swinging. Pissed the bed and everything.”

“How did he react to all of it?” Clint asked, seeming extremely interested in the whole scenario.

“Like he always does. Like nothing fucking happened. He was bleeding all over the place and he just jammed a tampon up his nose and changed my sheets for me while Mandy calmed me down.” Clint straightened his posture.

“You let him change your sheets?”

“I didn’t have a choice, he just fuckin did it.”

“What did he say to you after everything settled down?”

“Why all the focus on Ian?” Mickey asked, somewhat skeptical.

“You talk about him a lot.” Clint noted, causing Mickey to shrug his shoulders.

“Well he lives with us now, apparently.”

“Does he, really?” Mickey nodded. “How does that make you feel?”

“I don’t feel anything. He’s just there.”

“I’m just curious, Mickey, because you always seem uncomfortable around almost anyone that isn’t your sister, and here’s her friend who is around all the time, helping you through your episodes without question, and you seem absolutely comfortable with it all.” Clint seemed more upbeat and positive than he had been at the beginning of the appointment, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Mickey.

“He’s Ian. There’s not much to be uncomfortable about.”

“You feel safe being alone with him?” Clint asked. Mickey thought for a minute and nodded.

“Yeah, I guess. He seems to not let that happen very often.”

“Because he knows it might affect you?”

“What are you getting at with all this?” Mickey asked.

“Is Ian gay, Mickey? Seeing anyone?”

It all made sense now. Mickey shook his head.

“No. No, absolutely not. He’s not a lab rat, it’s not gonna happen.”

“You told me before that he was a dancer at a club. To me that means he’s at least somewhat good looking, am I wrong?” Cllint asked.

“No, you’re not wrong, but he’s... He lives with us now, alright? He’s my fucking sister’s best friend, I’m not fucking with him.”

“Just think about it, Mickey. If he’s available, willing, and as understanding as you’ve made it out to be, he may be a good candidate.”

“A good candi- Jesus fucking Christ. Can we change the subject, please?” Clint nodded and wrote something down on the file. “I had a guilt-free jerkoff session, can we talk about that? That’s less weird for me. I’d like that more.” Mickey rambled, trying as hard as he could to steer away from his new roommate.

“Did you? That’s actually good. Progress. I don’t need details but what was different about it? A more positive train of thought?” Clint asked, pen to paper and ready to take more notes.

“It took a while longer than it usually does. I had to fight to keep my thoughts straight. I just tried thinking about something different.”

“And it worked?”

“It worked.” Clint smiled.

“I know it’s weird to congratulate you on something like that, but as strange as it is, Mickey, it really is progress and I’m proud of you for finding a way to steer your head where you want it to go.” Mickey tried his hardest to keep from laughing at Clint’s choice of words. “I’d like to talk about how it’s going to go when we get those reports and work through them. How you’d like to go about it, I mean.”

Mickey always got nervous when Clint mentioned the reports. There were two feelings racing through him at the mere mention of the things. He was excited, but not really in a good way. It was like he couldn’t wait for the reports to be sent so he could finally know everything his mind deemed too damaging for him to remember. Another part of him was terrified, and rightfully so. He constantly questioned whether or not he actually wanted to go through with Clint’s suggestion of reliving it all so he could properly cope with it. He wondered if he could actually handle it, or if it was the Milkovich arrogance he and his siblings had that told him he could handle whatever those reports had to throw at him.

“Mickey?” Clint asked.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I asked if you would prefer it if I read through the reports first and we approached them in a way that would, in a way, ease you into it all? Or would you rather read them by date, or does it just not matter at all?”

“What do you think is best?”

“Easing you into it, without a doubt, seems like the smartest option to me.” Clint said, seeing completely confident in his decision, which in turn made Mickey completely confident in his decision. He nodded in agreement.

“Sounds good.”

“Okay, you sent me an email saying you were thinking about starting some anxiety meds?”

“Not Xanax.” Mickey nearly yelled. Clint quickly wrote it down and he and Mickey spent the rest of the hour going over what the best options for him were. He walked out with a prescription and another appointment for the next week. It wasn’t until he got home and walked in on Ian running out of Mandy’s room shirtless as he hopped around pulling his jeans on with a piece of toast in his mouth that he remembered all the crap that Clint had said about him. Ian mumbled something, Mickey guessed it was some sort of goodbye, as he ate the toast without the help of his hands and ran out the door after snatching his keys from the hook on the wall. The door was slammed shut before Mickey could even respond to him, but he couldn’t help but notice that the redhead did look good with his shirt off. It had nothing to do with anything Clint had suggested, it was just an innocent observation and it was fine to make observations. Encouraged, even. Mickey walked down the hall and went into his room, wanting to catch up on the sleep he hadn’t gotten the night before. He stripped off his pants and decided to leave his shirt on, sliding under the covers and closing his eyes. As usual, his mind wandered, and since the reports were just a looming inevitability that he wanted nothing to do with at the moment, he tried to think of the other part of his appointment, which happened to be Clint’s fascination with Ian. He just couldn’t even imagine doing what Clint was suggesting. It wasn’t as if Ian was like a brother, because he wasn’t. He felt like, all awkwardness aside, if it were to happen, and it happened the way it was supposed to, he would be stealing from his sister, which was something he just couldn’t do. There was a small part of him that wondered what it would be like, but he kept that small part of his thoughts quiet as he did what he could to clear his mind and go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys again for the kind words, encouragement, and advice. I know what's going to happen here, and how it will end, I just have to piece it all together in a way that isn't super disappointing and lame.


	5. Post Break-Up Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title to this chapter is misleading and I'm sorry, but when you name chapters after songs, that's bound to happen. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kind words and support you guys have given. It really does motivate me to keep going with this.

_"Everyone needs a helping hand,_

_Who said I would not understand?"_

-The Vaccines "Post Break-Up Sex"

 

A knock on Mickey’s door woke him up from his nap and he scrambled for his phone to see what time it was. 6:36pm. He did some math in his head and realized that he was fucked and that he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep that night. His door opened and he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Iggy?” He asked, his voice sounding groggy. Iggy walked in and sat on the bed, forcing Mickey to swing his legs over the side to make room for him. “When did you get here?”

“About an hour ago. I’ve been out there trying to kill time til someone got home or you woke up, but neither was happening so I decided to come in here.”

“Why’d you come over in the first place?”

“Because Mandy told me you’re gonna try some new kind of therapy to help you remember what happened, and she’s terrified it’s gonna fuck you up... And she’s making enchilada casserole and I’m sick of TV dinners.” Mickey looked away, way too tired to deal with what he was obviously going to be forced to deal with. “She said you’ve been having a lot of attacks. That cause Ian’s living here now?”

“No, Ian’s not a problem.”

“Well he’s the only thing that’s changed around here as far as I know.” Iggy said. Mickey shook his head. “You been getting out? Seeing friends or anything?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“You get a job?”

“Don’t need one.”

“Still drinking?”

“Yeah.”

“Getting loaded?” Mickey nodded, still not looking at his brother. Iggy was quiet for a minute before he got up and turned Mickey’s bedroom light on. He sat back down, facing his brother and thought for a second before he spoke. “You’re going to therapy?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re taking time and going there to try to deal with your issues, and you come home, down some pills, and hibernate? You think that’s doing any good, Mickey?”

“It’s not making anything worse.” Mickey challenged. Iggy was obviously getting sick of Mickey’s attitude, but Mickey wasn’t one to back down. Even though Iggy was one of the two people on the planet he would die for, he didn’t like being talked to the way Iggy was talking to him.

“Alright, how about the Xanax your fuckin’ roommate gave you? That make anything worse?” Mickey was quiet. “I don’t want to walk into your place and raise hell, Mickey, but I swear to god, if you keep doing stupid shit like that and scaring Mandy the way you have been, you and I are gonna have a fucking problem. You don’t fix shit by getting high. Not with the way you are.”

“How am I?” Mickey asked.

“You’re fucked up. Don’t talk to me like I’m fuckin scared to tell you how it is, Mickey. You’re fucked up and you know it. Doesn’t mean you’re not going to end up absolutely fine later on, it just means you got some fucking work to do and you’re making it harder on yourself with the shit you’re doing.” Iggy looked away and the two of them kept quiet for a minute before Iggy patted Mickey’s knee. “I didn’t come here to fight with you, Mick. I’m sorry. I just get so fucking pissed when you don’t take care of yourself.”

“I’m taking care of myself.”

“You’re working on it, I know, but you gotta work harder when you’re here. Make an effort. Stop getting home from therapy and coming straight to your room. Socialize. Meet people. Have you gone on any dates?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and stood up. He began pacing his room as Iggy watched him, knowing for whatever reason, Mickey was pissed and he needed to back off so he could calm down before he spoke.

“I’m not going to go on any dates. That’s what I’m working on in therapy. If I hear one more fucking person tell me that’s what I need, I’m going to fucking slit their throat.”

“You’re working on dating?”

“I’m working on the fact that when someone puts a hand on me, I wanna fucking puke. I’m 25 years old. People my age date to fuck, alright? So there’s absolutely no fucking point in me going out.”

“How are you supposed to work on that?” Iggy asked. He was genuinely curious. He wasn’t trying to drag a conversation out of his little brother. Mickey knew exactly how he was supposed to work on it, but there wasn’t a single part of it he was comfortable talking to his brother about. “You know you can talk to me, right?” Iggy asked. Mickey stared at him. “I mean, I know I’m not a fuckin therapist or anything, but I do give a shit what’s going on with you.”

“I know.” Mickey mumbled.

“I hope you do.” Iggy said. His voice was quieter than it had been, and when Mickey looked at him, Iggy looked upset. “I know I’m not dealing with whatever you two are dealing with, Mick, but remember I gotta live with the fact that I left you two there so I could just go off by myself and do whatever the fuck I wanted. I gotta think of that every fuckin’ day, alright?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Mickey assured him.

“Yeah, I did, alright? Cause I figured you two were fine so I didn’t give a shit.” Iggy shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t. Flat out. I didn’t care what happened in that house cause I made it through, so I knew you two could. But I had no fucking clue what he was doing.”

“And if you did know?” Mickey asked.

“He would’ve died a lot sooner than he did.”

“And you’d be in prison, and we would’ve been in foster homes. The money would be gone, and all three of us would be fucked.” Iggy stared at him. “Things happened the way they did for a reason. I... I gotta fucking believe that, no matter how fucked up it sounds. I wish it didn’t happen, and we’d just live in poverty with a shitty alcoholic dad, and I wish I would’ve been arrested countless times for stealing shit, and Mandy was a skank with a bad reputation in high school, but it didn’t happen like that. This is what we got, and we have to live with it. We’re all here, living stable lives, trying to fix what he did.” The room fell silent again and Iggy finally looked back at Mickey.

“You learn all that in therapy?” Mickey nodded. “Good. Keep going.”

“I am.”

“Honey, we’re home!” Ian yelled from the door. Iggy looked at Mickey’s door, then back at his little brother.

“You sure you’re cool with him living here?’ He asked, concern evident in his voice.

“He gets it.”

That was all he said. Ian gets it, and he did. When Iggy and Mickey walked out of the room, Ian greeted them, and then promptly ignored them, choosing to help Mandy with dinner rather than engage in a conversation. While Iggy caught up with Mandy, Mickey couldn’t help but occasionally glance at Ian, who seemed both overwhelmed with Mandy’s chaotic cooking techniques, but equally at home, a smile hardly leaving his face. Clint’s idea crossed his mind again, and, once again, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider asking Ian. He tried to pay attention, instead, to what everyone else was talking about and made himself a part of it, getting a few good laughs at his sister’s expense when Ian slapped her in the face with a wet tortilla.

Dinner was easy. The four of them sat at the table and laughed at stories Ian told about his psychotic family, including one about how he had to stop his little brother from setting a cat on fire with a blowtorch. It was relieving to have a night were nothing focused on him, and he found himself glad to help do the dishes with Ian while Mandy and Iggy ran out to get ice cream.

“We were going to watch Martyrs if you want to join us.” Ian said, taking a pan from Mickey and loading it into the dishwasher.

“What’s that?”

“A French horror movie. Trying to show your sister that blood doesn’t have to equal bad quality.” Mickey scrubbed a spot off of a plate and handed it to Ian, not understanding why you had to wash dishes before putting them in a dish washer.

“What’s it about?” He asked. Ian moved a few things around in the dishwasher to make more room.

“Starts out with this girl, she breaks into this happy home and kills everyone. You find out later that...” Ian trailed off and Mickey looked at him, only to see him shake his head. “Wait, I forgot, I brought another one. The one with a pregnant chick, she’s being stalked-”

“What’s wrong with the first one?” Mickey asked. Ian looked at him, looking guilty. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t think it through. I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.” He handed a handful of forks to Ian.

“They tortured the girl when she was little. I didn’t fucking think. It’s like a big deal in the movie and I’m a fucking idiot, I’m really sorry.” Mickey forced a smile, slightly bothered by the thought of watching a movie about children being tortured.

“What’s the point of the movie?” Ian looked at him, cautiously. “Why were they doing that to her?”

“There’s a, uh... An old woman who wants to prove that God is real, so she has these people tortured, but kept alive, so that right before they die, they’ll see God and tell her, but none of them ever did.”

“None?”

“Not til the end.” Mickey smiled again and handed him a bowl.

“What does she do when she finds out God is real?”

“Shoots herself in the head.” Mickey nodded, as if it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. “The other one’s pretty amazing. Lots of blood. Knitting needles in the throats and shit.” Mickey couldn’t help but laugh.

“You have interesting tastes.” Ian nodded.

“Yeah I guess.” They finished the dishes in silence before Ian spoke up again while he was wiping down the counter. “Mick?”

“Yeah?” Ian looked uneasy, like he was having trouble saying what he was going to say.

“I didn’t say thank you for letting me stay here. If you guys didn’t let me, I’d have to go back to my sister’s place and it’s... It’s kinda shitty there. So I appreciate it. And I also wanted to say that I know I fuck up sometimes but I’m trying really hard to not make you uncomfortable.”

“I know.”

“You do?” Ian asked, asking more for reassurance, rather than asking in disbelief. Mickey nodded.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.” Ian nodded and grabbed a dish towel to wipe some water off the counter. “Hey um...” Ian looked at him expectantly. “Is that store you work at... Are they hiring? For anything?”

“You want a job?” Ian asked. Mickey shrugged. His talk with Iggy had sunk in and he figured it was probably a good idea for him to get out of the apartment more. “It’s kind of a hole in the wall, so they don’t need a lot of employees, but there has been a lot of shoplifting lately so I can ask if they maybe want someone to work security or something. You think you could do that? I don’t wanna ask and have you not up for it.”

“Yeah, I got a lot of anger in me I could take out on teenagers, why not?” Ian smiled.

“Not sure how much they can pay you.” he warned, causing Mickey to shake his head.

“Not doing it for the money.”

“Right. Right I forgot. Um... I go in there tomorrow so I can ask.” Mickey nodded and turned the water off. It hadn’t left his mind- what his therapist had said. It had been swimming around in there all day, at times being shoved aside by other thoughts, but always fucking there. Here he was, alone with Ian, which very rarely happened.

“Ian?” The redhead looked up from the floor, where he was scrubbing a spot that Mickey had thought was just part of the pattern on the tile.

“Yeah?” Mickey couldn’t help but notice that Ian looked good like this, down on the ground, looking up at him, but he couldn’t find it in him to let the thoughts wander any further.

“Um... My doctor mentioned something... He mentioned something that if I choose to do it, I’ll need help and I was...”

“What do you need me to do?” Ian asked, cutting him off. Mickey was shocked at his enthusiasm.

“I... I don’t know yet but... Don’t say yes yet cause it might be... I want you to know it’s okay to say no, but... I might ask for something... Later? Sometime?” He said quietly, unable to look at Ian.

“Okay. Just let me know.” Mickey nodded and Ian went back to scrubbing the floor, but Mickey stood, staring at him. Ian’s comfort and willingness to help was actually bothering him. He had no idea what Mickey could be requesting of him, and Mickey didn’t understand how someone could just blindly trust the way Ian seemed to be doing.

“What if...” Ian looked up at him again and Mickey looked away at last, crossing his arms in front of himself, as he usually did when he was uncomfortable. “What if I know what he wants me to do and... And it’s rough... And it’d be hard for whoever else was doing it... And it’ll change shit?” Ian only smiled, standing up and throwing the dirty paper towel away.

“Don’t you wanna change shit, Mickey?” Ian walked by Mickey, wiping the counter off. Mickey couldn’t handle the optimism anymore.

“He wants me to find someone to experiment with.” He blurted out. Ian looked at him and Mickey started his breathing exercises to try to keep the inevitable panic attack from knocking him off his feet.

“Experiment?” Ian asked. Mickey shook his head.

“Don’t make me say it.” Ian wasn’t stupid and Mickey knew it. He also wasn’t cruel enough to act stupid and force Mickey to say something he wasn’t comfortable saying. He took a minute to stare at him and then looked away. Mickey ran his hand over his face, wishing he could just disappear. He began walking out of the kitchen when Ian finally spoke up.

“So what would we be doing?” He asked. Mickey turned around.

“Fucking, alright? That’s the ultimate goal, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who needs it, you’re the one who knows the endgame.”

“Alright, well that’s the endgame. That’s the issue I’m working on.”

“I already know what you’re working on. Mandy told me to make sure I stayed away from you so I didn’t upset you.”

“Of course she did.” Mickey regretted even saying anything. He turned to leave again.

“I’ll do it.” Ian said. Mickey stopped and turned to face him again. Ian shrugged his shoulders. “If you’re gonna do it, might as well be with someone who gets it, you know? I mean... If you’re sure you want it to be me.” Mickey thought about telling Ian that he had no other options, but he knew it might be a blow to the redhead’s self esteem. Instead, he just nodded.

“I don’t know how to... I mean, I still don’t...”

“You have my number?” Ian asked. Mickey nodded. “Okay. When you wanna try something, or you wanna talk about it, send me a text and we’ll figure it out. Just don’t let Mandy know, alright? She’ll fucking gut me and string me up with my own intestines if she finds out I’ve put my grubby fuckin’ hands on you.” Mickey nodded and walked back to his room, unable to keep the smile from coming to his face. It was done. He’d asked Ian, and Ian had said he’d do it. All the fear and awkwardness he’d been feeling was over and he felt like he was on cloud nine when he sat down on his bed. Until he realized that now that the asking was over, he had absolutely no fucking clue how to proceed.


	6. Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?

_"There’s a moment in time_  
_And it’s stuck in my mind_  
_Way back, when we were just kids_  
_'Cause your eyes told the tale_  
_Of an act of betrayal_  
_I knew that somebody did"_  
-The Offspring “Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?”

  
He’d been lying in bed for two hours. Two hours of staring at the ceiling after sitting on a couch for an hour and a half staring at a TV screen, thinking about the same thing he was thinking about now. His phone had been in his hand the whole time and at times, he’d see Ian checking his phone- simply looking at the screen, and then putting it back- probably seeing Mickey with his phone and wondering if he was going to text about their situation soon. Now was the time, however, and he opened up a blank message addressed to Ian- the number Mandy had given him for emergencies. Over and over again, he thought of different things to say and then thought of the consequences, wondering if he could make Ian change his mind in ten words or less, then he wondered how he would feel if Ian just told him that he’d changed his mind and didn’t think it was a good idea. Then he thought about the embarrassment and the defeat.

His mind never shut off, it seemed, and in time, he found himself typing, and then sending it as quickly as he could before he could change his mind

_If you’re awake, can you come in here?_

Then he waited, his body tense and his nerves making his mind go batshit crazy. He wondered if there was a way to unsend a message, and he composed a few “nevermind” and “sorry I’m bothering you” texts before deleting them. He was just about to turn his phone off when his door opened and Ian slid in, shutting it behind him before he walked over to the closet and sat on the ground against the wall, as if that was his place and he always sat there.

“Mandy sleeps like a fucking corpse.” He said, his voice hushed. Mickey sat up and pulled his legs close, crossing them in front of himself as he nodded.

“I know.” Mickey wondered if Ian had come expecting them to try messing around or something, but he knew for sure that he wasn’t ready. He hadn’t even showered or brushed his teeth.

“So we should talk.” Ian said, snapping Mickey out of his thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any idea how you wanna do this?” Ian asked. All Mickey could do was shake his head. Part of him regretted even asking Ian for help. “Do you want me to know what happened to you? Cause odds are, I’m gonna have to know eventually.”

“I don’t want anyone to know, but like you said, you’re gonna have to, aren’t you? Once I know, I mean.” Ian nodded.

“And you’re okay with me knowing?” He asked, restating his question, in a way. Mickey looked away and thought about it. He thought about how Ian might react once he knew what he and Mandy had gone through, but he couldn’t think of anything that would make Ian judge them or treat them differently.

“You, yeah.” He answered, finally. They were quiet for a little while, Ian’s feet swaying from side to side. Mickey watched them, the motion having a slight calming effect.

“I whored myself out a couple times.” Ian said. Mickey’s eyes darted from the redhead’s feet to his face. “When I took my brother, I didn’t have any money, and it’s not like I could ask anyone for any, so... I locked Liam- my brother- in the backseat of the car and found a couple guys willing to pay me to either fuck or blow them. I left with them for two hours. When I got back, the cops were busting the car’s windows to get him out, and that’s when they arrested me.” Mickey stared at him. He’d always had this idea of Ian that he was an upright citizen, which was cracked when Mandy told him about the kidnapping, and now it was shattered. It wasn’t a lack of respect, it was as if he saw him in a whole new light. He wasn’t some snobby kid who was rebelling against his family by “dancing” in a gay club, he was a sick guy, just like Mickey, who would do anything to take care of people he cared about.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asked quietly, which made Ian shrug.

“I’m gonna know your business, you should know mine. It’s only fair.” He explained. Mickey nodded and they each looked away, both of their minds wandering. “You ever actually have any good sex?” Ian asked.

“No.” He’d gotten so used to answering that question that he never thought twice anymore. He felt slightly embarrassed, but tried to shove the feeling aside.

“So you’re a virgin?” Ian wasn’t mocking him. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face when Mickey looked at him. Mickey was confused.

“I lost it when-”

“Rape doesn’t count as sex.” Ian informed, causing Mickey to freeze. Rape. It was a harsh word that people tended to avoid using around him. He never even used it. Clint was probably the only person besides Ian to be so blunt.

“Then yeah. I am.” He felt embarrassed now, and it finally dawned on him that Ian was going to know more about him than most people did. He was going to see more of him than anyone around him ever had, and he was going to know every gory detail about what Mickey went through, as he, himself, found out what he went through.

“You ever kiss anyone? When you were little doesn’t count.”

“I’ve never done anything. So whenever you wanna know if I’ve done anything, there’s your answer.” Ian stared at him.

“So we’re starting on ground zero.” Ian noted. Mickey only stared at him, leaning back slightly when Ian stood up and took a couple steps toward him. “Can I sit?” Mickey gave another nod and moved aside, even though there was already plenty of room for Ian to sit. He stared ahead, picking at his nails when he felt Ian’s eyes on him.

“You gonna say something or just stare at me?”

“I want to try kissing you.” Ian admitted. Mickey looked at him, then quickly looked away, embarrassed. He didn’t know the first thing about kissing, nor did he know if he’d have a reaction to it. “Is it too soon to try things? You wanna just talk for a while?”

“I want to get it over with so I’m not like this anymore.” Mickey admitted. Ian nodded and turned toward him.

“Let’s try it , then.” Mickey looked at him, unsure of what to do, which Ian seemed to sense, as he put his hand gently on Mickey’s jaw so he was barely touching him, and turned his face. Mickey didn’t move as Ian leaned in and pressed his lips against Mickey’s gently. There was no tongue, no movement at all, really, and it only lasted about a second before he pulled back and his eyes searched Mickey’s face for any sign of discomfort, but there was nothing. “You alright?” Mickey nodded, not sure if the pounding in his chest was caused by an upcoming panic attack, or the excitement of having some kind of contact with someone that didn’t make him feel like he had to beat the shit out of them. He didn’t notice Ian leaning in again until their lips made contact again. This time, Ian moved his mouth, but only slightly, massaging Mickey’s lips with his own before pulling back. “How was that? Anything bad?” Nothing. Mickey didn’t feel anything and he was a little excited at the thought of knowing there was a possibility that he might be able to kiss someone without panicking. “Okay, one more? A little further?”

“Okay.” Mickey replied quietly, somewhat eager to see what Ian was going to do next. Ian wasted no time kissing him, and he continued with the second method, this time swiping his tongue across Mickey’s lips. It sent a shock through Mickey and he pulled back, a dull feeling in his stomach, though he didn’t know why.

“Fuck, I’m sorry are you okay?” Mickey nodded, looking away. He felt like he was on the brink of something- Like he almost knew what made him feel the way he did, and he looked at Ian.

“Do it again.” He demanded, leaning toward him.

“Are you sure? Cause-” Mickey crashed his mouth into Ian’s, and the redhead worked his way to doing it again, making Mickey tense when he licked his lips. When Mickey opened his mouth, Ian slid his tongue in, and that was it. Mickey shoved him away roughly, probably hurting him, but he couldn’t care. His heart was going crazy and he felt like he was going to throw up. Ian’s tongue in his mouth was nothing new. It sparked something in Mickey’s mind that wasn’t able to give him specifics, but it told him he’d felt it before, and it was bad. It shouldn’t be happening. It was like being on the edge of remembering something you’d been trying to remember for so long, but that was as far as he’d get. “Breathe, Mick, you’re not breathing.”

He wasn’t. He took a deep breath and realized how badly he needed it. Tears fell and he didn’t bother wiping them.

“I can’t-”

“We’re stopping, Mickey, it’s not gonna happen again.” Mickey looked at him and shook his head.

“No. No I can do it again, I just need to- You’re giving up?”

“I’m not giving up. Just not tonight. You gotta get through this and we can try again tomorrow or the next day, alright? We knew this could happen. You just gotta deal with it before we keep going.” Ian explained. Mickey nodded and looked away. Neither of them spoke as Mickey’s breathing returned to normal. It always happened that he felt embarrassed after people saw him go through an episode like this, and this time felt even worse. Having Ian know that something as simple as kissing could do this to him was humiliating. “How you doing?” Ian asked, but Mickey could only nod. Ian looked at him and smiled. “If it’s any consolation, you’re a pretty good kisser, considering you’ve never done it before.” Mickey couldn’t help but smile back. “At least we know now, right?” Mickey nodded and Ian bit his lip, looking away. “What if you keep your eyes open next time?” They looked at each other again. “You know... You’ve got your eyes closed, maybe feeling it without seeing it is making your mind wander more than it should. You wanna try looking at me next time? So you know it’s me?”

“I know it’s you.”

“I know that, I mean if you’re looking at me, and you see me doing it, you’ll be focused on me, not whatever your mind is trying to think of.” It made some sense, but Mickey wasn’t sure it would fix the problem. However, he was willing to try anything to continue being able to feel close to someone else like he had when Ian kissed him the first and second times. It was comforting, and it made him feel normal for the first time in a long time.

“Okay I’ll try. Not tonight though.”

“No, not tonight. Are you going to be okay? You need me to stay?”

“No, I’ll be fine." Ian nodded.

“Okay. Just let me know when you need me again, alright?” He asked, standing up. Mickey nodded. “Okay. You did good, Mickey.” Mickey smiled and shook his head, but Ian wasn’t laughing. “I’m serious. I don’t know how hard it is for you, but you’re fucking trying and I hope you know that everyone sees that.” Mickey couldn’t respond. He just stared at Ian as he walked toward the door. “Night, Mickey.”

“Goodnight.” He replied, his voice low. He watched Ian slip out of the door and close it as quietly as he could, leaving him to sit there, a mixture of emotions brewing in his head. He was proud of himself, but no matter how hard he tried to remember, nothing came when he searched his mind for any hint of why the kiss had set him off. There were no solid memories, just theories, and he would remain awake for a couple more hours until his thoughts exhausted him and he fell asleep on top of the covers.


	7. We Are Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get a chance to go over this chapter cause my internet is acting shitty and I needed to hurry in the posting process so forgive any mistakes, I'll fix them when I get a chance. Thank you for all your kindness.

_"I'll take the truth at any cost."_

-Paramore "We Are Broken"

 

He didn’t dream that night. He woke up dry, despite his worry the night before, and had a relatively calm day, until he was out to lunch with Iggy and got a text from Clint telling him that the reports would be shipped to Mickey’s apartment that day. There was no way for him to hide such a presumably large package, or the sudden shift in his mood, so, after setting up an appointment with Clint the next day, he decided that telling his brother was the best option for him.

“The police reports are coming today.” He put his phone away and glanced at his older brother before taking another bite of his sandwich. Iggy paused for a minute, but seemed to think about it and, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, continued eating after shrugging his shoulders.

“You gonna read ‘em?” He asked, his mouth full of tuna. Mickey stirred a glob of ketchup around with a french fry and shook his head.

“I don’t think I should right now. I was thinking about having Clint go over them first and then letting me know what’s in them before I dive in.”

“Clint the therapist?”

“Yeah.”

“Might be a good idea.” Iggy said. Mickey watched him and noticed he seemed uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” He finally asked, but Iggy didn’t speak. “Fuckin say it, man, I’m sick of people walking on egg shells around me.” Iggy took a drink of his beer and looked at him.

“You’re sure you wanna know all that shit?”

“Not even slightly sure, but I can’t keep going on like this.”

“The anxiety ain’t gonna go away, Mickey.”

“Not the fucking anxiety.” Mickey snapped back. “The fucking... I don’t want to be like this anymore, man. Sitting at home while everyone else moves on around me- it’s not fucking fair. I got no right to bitch about it if there’s a chance I can fix it and I pass it up. That’s all this is, man. A fucking chance.” Iggy stared at him, a sympathetic expression on his face. Mickey shook his head and stabbed the slice of lemon at the bottom of his glass of water with a straw. “I know it might not fix anything, but I need to know, alright? And it’s gonna fuck me up, I know that, but...” He shrugged. “I’m already a fucking wreck, you know? What’s a few more nightmares?” Iggy nodded, looking down at his plate. Mickey could tell he wanted to say something, but he needed time. Mickey managed to take three bites of his sandwich before Iggy spoke.

“Mickey, I don’t want you thinking I don’t want you doing whatever you think you have to do to get better, but I want you to know that what I saw...” Mickey couldn’t look away from his brother if he tried. Iggy looked sick, and he wouldn’t look Mickey in the eye. “I mean, I only saw a couple minutes of one of those tapes. A few fucking seconds of them actually doing anything to you... And I’m never gonna get the fucking sounds you were making out of my head.” Iggy’s eyes glazed over with tears when he said it, and he stopped to fight them from coming. Once he seemed sure he wasn’t going to cry, He cleared his throat. “They didn’t just fucking molest you two, Mickey. It wasn’t just hands down pants, diddling little kids on camera kind of shit, alright, they fucking tortured you, and they did it for years, every day according to Mandy. And you’re sitting here telling me you don’t remember any of it. You gotta go through almost a decade of fucking torture and it’s gonna fuck you up. It fucking scares me.” Mickey nodded and took his straw out of the glass of water and began bending and twisting it under the table, watching what he was doing, as he found it hard to look his brother in the eye.

“You know what it’s like to have scars on your body and to not remember how they got there?” Iggy didn’t move as he stared at Mickey. “Iggs, I can’t stand people touching me. I used to play fight with Mandy and if she pinned me down, I would headbutt her to get her off me. I took her to the ER once thinking I broke her nose. I can’t be alone with people I don’t know, I can’t be in crowds or have my picture taken.” He was doing well fighting the tears, but he couldn’t stop his voice from shaking as he spoke. “I can’t date or fuck anyone- I can’t even kiss anyone without wanting to cry.” He finally looked at Iggy, who was giving him his full attention. “Imagine your life like that. Take the life you’ve lived since you got out of that house, and take all that away. What do you got?” Iggy raised his eyebrows and looked away, shaking his head.

“Not much.” Mickey nodded and grabbed another fry, dipping it but finding his appetite was gone. “Promise me something.” He looked at Iggy again. “On the days you’re going over that shit with your doctor, have someone else drive you there so you don’t have to drive home. Between me, Mandy, and I’m sure Ian would help if you asked, one of us can do it. You don’t gotta talk to us, you can just get in the back and lay down or something, but I don’t want you driving.” Mickey nodded. He didn’t like the idea of including others in anything to do with his therapy appointments, but if it would make someone he cared about feel better, he’d do it.

They didn’t talk about anything else that was heavy the rest of the time they were out, and when they got home to a box sitting in front of their door, Mickey wordlessly picked it up and carried it to his room, choosing to not stay there, and join his brother to watch a documentary on the Discovery channel about a pride of lions, which turned out to be the most depressing thing either of them had seen in a while. Mandy joined them once it was over and they changed it to the SyFy channel, which was playing every Alien movie back to back, unedited.

“I got a raise today.” Mandy informed, squeezing between her brothers as she held a bowl of grapes.

“Why? I went there and you ignored my table for like forty five minutes.” Iggy said.

“Some guy grabbed my ass so I punched him. Apparently, the owner heard and respected me for it.”

“Nice. You get the guy’s name?” Mandy lifted her hips and reached into her pockets, pulling out a crumbled up receipt.

“Paid with a credit card.” She informed, passing the paper to Iggy, who looked it over.

“Who the fuck orders a burger with no bun? The fuck?”

“Right?” She scoffed. Iggy pocketed the receipt.

“I’ll take care of him.” Mickey smiled to himself, grabbing a couple grapes from Mandy’s bowl. “Where’s the roommate?” Iggy asked, gaining Mickey’s attention.

“He’s working the store right now and the club tonight, which means he’s probably gonna buy dinner tomorrow so start thinking about what you want.”

“How generous of him.” Iggy said. Mickey patted Mandy’s thigh and stood up.

“I’m gonna clean up.” He said, heading toward the hall. He walked into his room, ignoring the box he’d placed in the corner as he grabbed a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt before going to the bathroom and locking the door behind him. He started the water and began stripping as he waited for it to get hot. He tried hard not to think about what he was going to have to face soon. He tried hard not to think about what the possible aftermath might be, and if he’d be able to recover from it like his therapist so confidently assured him he’d be able to. Though he tried hard, his mind was soon swimming and he forced himself to just close his eyes and breathe. He fought hard to wipe his mind clean, and began soaping himself up to take his mind off things, but soon remembered a away to calm himself down almost instantly.

Mickey wasn't trying to make a habit out of jerking off in the shower. The last thing he wanted to do was go from someone disgusted by the act to one of those creeps that jacks it on a city bus in front of people. He was, however, desperate to relax and the last time he did it, he could've fallen right to sleep after, so he leaned forward, letting the water hit the back of his neck as leaned his head down. It wasn't until the water ran all the way down his body and he got chills that he realized how cold he had been, and being under the spray relaxed him, just as it had the last time he did this. He focused on his usual thoughts of how good it was going to feel when he got himself off. He ran his fingers down, passing up his slightly hard cock in favor of rubbing his thigh. His hand came back up and gripped his cock, instantly putting his body and mind on edge. He breathed deep, letting the hot water relax him and he gave himself a couple slow, experimental pulls before he relaxed a little. It took no time at all for him to get fully hard, and he loosened his grip, choosing instead to let his fingertips ghost over his cock and give him chills again. He bit his lip, gripping himself again and beginning a steady rhythm as he leaned his forehead against the tiles and closed his eyes.

His mind wandered, as it always did, and his endgame orgasm slipped his thoughts as he thought about the fact that he should be disturbed by this. He shouldn't like this. He tried to shake the thought that by doing this, he was basically saying he liked to be touched and that everything he went through was okay because he was a fucking pervert and he got off on shit like this.

He let go, breathing hard with his eyes still closed and his face against the wall. He tried to shake the thoughts- to think of happier things that had happened, and his mind made his way to the only bit of progress he'd made- being able to kiss Ian. It wasn't so much the redhead that soothed his mind, it was the fact that Mickey had been able to engage in some kind of contact with someone and it had felt nice. He remembered how relieved he felt- how hopeful- and he picked up where he started, his rhythm slow but steady. He thought about the feeling of his own lips kissing someone else, and how hot his face had gotten. He remembered what Ian had said- maybe looking at him would help, and his head made up a vague scenario of himself with someone, feeling their mouth on him, trying to picture what he'd felt on his lips anywhere else on his body, and the panic that would come, but be soothed by their voice telling him to open his eyes and look at them- and it was Ian's voice in his head saying those words- "Look at me"- that sent Mickey over the edge as he came, moaning quietly and biting his lip again. He slumped against the wall, slowing his hand down through the tremors that shook his body until his orgasm ended and he was left, trying to catch the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, a serene calm washed over him as the water washed away any evidence of what he'd just done. He continued rubbing soap over the rest of his body and rinsed off before turning the shower off and drying himself with a towel. He got dressed in the underwear he brought with him and pulled the t-shirt over his head before leaving the bathroom and tossing his dirty clothes and towel into his room. He walked back into the living room and took his place on the couch again.

“You need a ride to therapy tomorrow?” Iggy asked.

“No. I’m gonna give him the reports and he’s gonna take them home and read them. Figure out a good way to break it to me. We’re just gonna talk about other shit tomorrow. Nothing big.”

“There’s other shit?” Mandy asked.

“There’s always other shit.”

They continued watching the movies as they aired, talking about various customers Mandy had served throughout the day, and eventually ended up ordering pizza for dinner. After the final installment of the Alien series aired, Mickey got up and went to brush his teeth, not really tired, but feeling strange since he’d spent most of the day outside his bedroom. He made sure the sink was clean before heading to his room and closing the door. Not realizing how tired he got from simply stressing out, he fell asleep shortly after his head hit his pillow, waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, which was when he ran right into Ian as he walked down the hall.

“Jesus fuck-” He shoved Ian away, causing the redhead to lift his hands up.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me- Ian- It’s Ian. Mick, sorry. I just got off work.” Mickey stepped back, breathing hard and trying to calm down.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Ian.”

“Sorry.” Ian repeated. Mickey nodded and took a breath. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“The fuck is going on?!” Mandy yelled from her room.

“Go to sleep!” Ian yelled.

“Fuck you.” She retorted, her voice showing how tired she was. Ian smiled and looked back at Mickey.

“Are you wearing glitter?” Mickey asked, causing Ian to look down at himself. “Your face.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah uh, they sent me to the opening of a new club. Made fuckin bank, it was awesome.”

“Neat.” Mickey said sarcastically. He didn’t know if it was just the idea of someone shaking their ass for old horny men for money that upset him, or the thought of someone he knew doing it and having no problem with it that bothered him so much, but he didn’t like it. Ian seemed to sense his disdain.

“Um... You gonna use the-”

“Yeah. Just real quick.” Mickey said, walking by him. Ian nodded and began walking toward Mandy’s room. “Ian?” He stopped and looked at Mickey. “Um... Are you gonna go right to sleep?” Ian shook his head.

“I’ll stop by after I take a shower. You gonna be able to hold out that long?” He joked. Mickey flipped him off and walked into the bathroom. After he got back to his room, he turned his lamp on and sat on the bed, nervous like he always was before Ian showed up. It was strange how the majority of his nerves left when the redhead came in, and this night was no exception. Ian knocked gently and waited for Mickey to tell him to come in. When he entered, Mickey looked away, trying to think of a way to say what he wanted to say. “Don’t hurt yourself thinking that hard, just say it, man.” Ian said, smiling. Mickey gathered his courage and looked at him.

“Can we try again?” He asked quietly. Ian nodded.

“Same thing?”

“I’m gonna keep my eyes open.” Mickey informed.

“Sounds good.” Ian sat on the bed next to Mickey and looked at him.

“I know it’s late so I can hurry-”

“Don’t fuckin hurry, Mickey, I got nowhere to be tomorrow morning, I can handle staying up a little late. Take your time, alright?” Mickey nodded. He looked away, and then back at Ian. There was no way to get it done besides just doing it, so he leaned forward, and pressed his closed lips against Ian’s. He kept his eyes open, staring somewhat crosseyed at Ian as they kissed. When the redhead opened his eyes as well, Mickey looked away until Ian swiped his tongue across the brunet's lower lip. Mickey tensed, instinctively hating the feeling of it, and Ian pulled back and looked over Mickey’s face in order to tell if he was okay.

"You did good. You wanna try again?"

"You want me to open my mouth?" Mickey asked, instantly feeling like a child curiously asking how to kiss. He felt somewhat humiliated.

"No let's stick to what I just did til you're okay with it. Just do what you're doing. Keep looking at me."

"It's fuckin’ weird."

"It’s not fuckin’ weird, just fuckin do it." Ian said, laughing. He leaned in again, kissing Mickey's closed, but loose lips. Mickey stared at him as he licked Mickey's mouth again. It wasn't as bad when he looked at Ian. It was actually kind of funny and he smiled into the kiss, causing Ian to do the same as he opened his eyes and pulled back. "I take it that one was better?" Mickey nodded and leaned in, initiating a kiss for the second time, which Ian eagerly gave in to. Mickey kept his eyes locked on Ian's, even though his were closed, and he mimicked Ian's movements, running his tongue over Ian's lips. Ian must've been lost in the moment, because he didn't question it, he simply parted his lips, giving Mickey access if he wanted it. Mickey timidly pressed his tongue farther, meeting Ian's just inside his mouth and it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Knowing he was here, in front of his friend, safe in his room with the light on, and seeing the face of the person who was kissing him really did make it all easier. He pulled back slowly this time, looking away. "You alright?" Mickey nodded. "Did we just break another barrier?" Ian asked. "Can we legit suck face and be okay with it?" The fact that Ian joked about almost everything while, at the same time, managing to not offend Mickey was impressive and very much appreciated.

"Shut the fuck up." Mickey muttered, looking away. Ian only smiled, taking no offense. “It’s still... It’s like physical- the reaction. Like a dull achy feeling. It’s weird. It’s not as bad, but it’s still there.”

“Like guilt?” Mickey shrugged.

“A little guilt. A little something else.” Ian nodded, once again giving Mickey his full attention.

“You’re gonna figure it out, Mick.” His voice lacked the joking tone it had just had, and Mickey could only nod in response. “You got another appointment soon right?”

“Tomorrow.” Mickey nodded toward the box by his closet. “Police reports came in.”

“Did you read them?” Ian asked, not looking away from the box.

“No.” Ian nodded.

“If you need anything- Like if you want me to leave the apartment I-”

“I’m not gonna want you to leave, Ian. If there was anything in me that couldn’t handle you, I wouldn’t have asked you for this.” He said, motioning between the two of them. Ian only smiled. “You need to sleep you look exhausted.”

“You too.” Ian stood up and headed for the door, stopping to turn and face Mickey again. “Everyone’s proud of you, Mick.” Mickey looked at him. “We all see what you’re going through to deal with all this. We’re proud of you.” Mickey nodded, somewhat embarrassed and not yet used to praise. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” And with that, Ian left the room. Mickey rested back against his pillows after reaching over and turning off his lamp. He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, tasting the mint from Ian’s toothpaste and smiling. It was a friendly reminder of the small hurdle he’d finally gotten over, and he was proud of himself, even if he’d never admit it. He drifted off rather quickly, still tired from waking up after so few hours asleep, not looking forward to anything the next day had to offer.

 


	8. Bad_News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry this took so long. I wish I could say it's a super mega long chapter to make up for the wait, but it's not. Just a normal one.

_"Bad news like a sucker punch, what do you say?_  
_Air knocked out of my lungs, your cue to stay_  
_When you hear something difficult don't back away_  
_Some people say nothing, good ones engage"_

-Bastille "Bad_News"

 

Clint had the absolute best poker face Mickey had ever seen. He'd been sitting and watching the man for nearly flifteen minutes as he opened four different files from the box Mickey had brought to him and not once did Clint show any sign of emotion. He spent more time on certain pages than on others, and it got Mickey wondering what the fuck he was reading, and how bad it actually was. He spent time wondering if he'd actually be able to even go through with this part of his therapy, and if Clint would judge him if he backed out. Then he wondered what would happen to the files- if he'd leave them with this man, or take them home, just to keep them in a corner or in a closet, where they would taunt him every time he saw them. It wasn't until Clint closed the fourth file that he even glanced at Mickey, and even then, it was just a glance.

“How bad?"` Mickey asked, straightening his posture. Clint glanced at the box again and raised his eyebrows.

"Mickey, there are different levels of severity in those reports. I just looked over one that didn’t seem like much at all, and the very next one is extremely detailed and graphic. What I want to do is take them home and put them in an order that would ease you into it.”

“So it’s just gonna get worse and worse?” Mickey felt like it was a stupid plan, but he tried with everything in him to trust the man.

“It’s going to get worse and worse, yes, but you’re also going to gain knowledge as we go on how to deal with the trauma in a healthy manner, rather than sinking into a depression.”

“Trauma?” Mickey asked, making Clint nod.

“Yes, Mickey, trauma. It’s going to be damaging, there’s no doubt by what I just read, that you’re going to be affected by this.” Mickey shook his head and sat back, angry.

“Then why fucking do it, huh? Why can’t I just keep doing what I’m doing with Ian and just working on it that way?” Clint frowned, and Mickey felt his face flush as he looked away, realizing he hadn’t broken the news.

“What are you doing with Ian?”

“What you said.” He didn’t feel comfortable talking about it. He would’ve rather told Clint about every single time he’d jerked off than include Ian on his list of therapy topics, but that wasn’t an option.

“You’re experimenting with him? How is it going?” Mickey glanced at him, then looked away again. “You don’t have to give details, Mickey.”

“It’s okay. He kissed me and he told me to keep my eyes open and it worked. It still made me feel sick, but I didn’t curl into a ball and piss myself after, either.”

“How far have you managed to go?”

“Kissing. Barely with tongue. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Mickey. Everything is something.” Mickey raised his eyebrows.

“How insightful. You get that off a fortune cookie?” Clint could only smile and shake his head. They were quiet for a minute and Mickey relaxed a bit more.

“Is it changing anything between you two? Making it weird or hard to be around him?” Mickey shook his head.

“He acts like I’m asking to borrow notes or something. It’s like nothing to him.”

“And to you?” Mickey stared at him, for whatever reason he’d been unprepared for the question.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean is it nothing to you?” He wanted to say yes, but the man’s face made it damn near impossible to lie. Mickey thought about how to word what he wanted to say, and he shook his head.

“It’s not about him.” He said quietly. He straightened up again and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “It’s just like... I like it. I like doing it cause I’ve never been able to.” The heat returned to his nose and cheeks and he found it hard to look at Clint so he lowered his head. “It’s like once I get to the point where I’m comfortable, I don’t want to stop.”

“But you do.”

“I do cause I don’t. I feel like I can keep going, but eventually my head doesn’t seem to agree, so we stop.” Clint took some more notes.

“Mickey these files may affect you in a way that will put an end, if only temporarily, to what you’re doing. You may not want to continue what you’re doing with Ian once you know what’s in these files.” Mickey couldn’t look away from Clint. The thought of not feeling the triumphant feeling he got when he was with Ian made his heart fall, and he didn’t like the idea at all. “I need you to take a day or two and let me know if you think you’re ready to go through these. Consider the pros and cons. We can always go back to them. They’re here, and they’re not going anywhere.” Mickey felt a sting come to his eyes, and he blinked tears back before sitting back in his chair and looking away. Clint looked down at his file, trying to make the situation a little more tolerable for Mickey by not watching him break down. “What are you thinking right now, Mickey?”

“You don’t wanna know what I’m thinking.” He muttered, forcing a smile.

“You know I do.” Mickey shook his head.

“It’s fucked up, alright? And I know you’re just going to nod and agree, and you’re gonna tell me it’s not fair, but it is what it is and all that shit. I take one step forward and then I’m knocked ten steps back.”

“You haven’t been knocked back-”

“I will be. Those fucking reports have everything I need to know in them. You fucking told me I need to know- that I need to go through with it, and then while I’m waiting for them to get here, I follow your other advice and risk every bit of comfort I have at home to get Ian involved in this, and it’s fucking working-” He was crying now, furious and hurting. “It’s fucking working and I feel fucking normal for the first fucking time. You don’t know what that’s like- you don’t ‘get it’, alright? You don’t know what it’s like to be fucking coddled your whole life and then to have something that everyone else has always had and to finally get to enjoy it. And now you’re telling me if I go through with those reports, I probably can’t have that feeling anymore. And, it’s like, your solution to me being upset about that is to just not do it. Just don’t look at the reports, but it’s not a fucking option.” He broke down, sobbing into his hands silently, and Clint knew him well enough to just stay where he was. He watched him now, making sure he’d make it through his outburst. “It’s not an option, alright? I have to know... What the fuck happened to me. Why someone who has never hurt me, or yelled at me, he can make me want to throw up in a split second because something he does reminds me of something I can’t even fucking remember. So I’m fucked. I gotta give up what I’ve got in order to fuck myself up further for the sake of mental fucking health.”

“Mickey, I have to prepare you for the worst, alright? The fact of the matter is that I haven’t met anyone who has been able to go over things like this and then go home and not be affected by it. If you read about someone burning you when you’re bad, you don’t want to leave here and go to a bonfire.”

“Is that in there?” Mickey asked, wiping his eyes.

“No. I’m making an example. Like I said, Mickey, these files aren’t going anywhere. I want you to go home and take as much time as you need to decide what you want to do. I don’t want you feeling pressured.”

“How can I not feel pressured when you insisted that this was necessary?”

“I feel it’s necessary. Honestly, I do, but if you want to continue with what you’re doing for a little while, I’m not going to tell you it’s a bad idea because I don’t think it is. Alright?” Mickey nodded. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel conflicted. Why don’t you relax a bit before you head home? You want something to eat?”

“No.”

“I’m not gonna set up another appointment. I want you to call when you’re ready, or if you just need to come in. You have my cell.” Mickey nodded and Clint stood up. “You’ve already been as low as possible, Mickey. Back when everything happened to you- that was your rock bottom. You’re older and stronger now and I need you to know I have to prepare you for the worst, but it doesn’t always come to that. You quite possibly might not be affected by it at all, it’s just not very likely.” He nodded again and Clint left the room so he could calm down a bit before leaving. It only took a few minutes, and he walked out to the parking lot with his head down. He didn’t register anything on the drive home, and no worry came over him when he realized, upon opening his apartment door, that he didn’t remember driving there. He shut and locked the door, looking around.

“Mandy?” He got no response. “Iggy?” Again, there was nothing. He heard a door down the hall open and he headed over. “Mandy?” He lowered his head as Ian emerged from the bathroom, dressed with wet hair.

“They went to go buy groceries. I was gonna cook dinner.” Mickey knew Ian could see that he’d been crying, but the redhead made no mention of it. “And I wanted to text you but I knew you were at the doctor’s so... I, uh, got you a job at the store. They said you can come in when I do so you won’t be by yourself.” Mickey couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Ian had remembered his request.

“Thanks.” Ian nodded and turned to walk to Mandy’s room.

“Oh, and Mandy mentioned something about turning the office into a room? I was gonna-”

“Yeah, um... Next weekend okay?” Mickey asked, cutting him off. Ian smiled.

“Kinda busy next weekend.” Mickey felt a pang of disappointment hit him and bit his lip. “The weekend after?” Ian asked.

“Yeah, sure, just tell me what you need help with.” Ian nodded and went into Mandy’s room. “Um, Ian?” Mickey called, stepping closer to Mandy’s door. He took a step back when Ian emerged. “Um... Clint- my therapist Clint- he, uh... He said that the reports might fuck me up a little and that... What we’re doing might be harder to do when I start...” He trailed off, feeling embarrassed as Ian stared at him.

“Do what you need to do for you, Mick.” He looked at Ian again. “If we gotta start at square one six months from now, that’s what we do. Don’t try to push yourself.”

“I want to push myself, though. Isn’t that what this is? We do something, I get uncomfortable, we stop, I calm down, we push through it.”

“Yeah, so far, but you’ve got kissing down, Mick. After that, things get handsy.” Mickey looked away, not wanting to talk anymore, so he nodded. “You wanna try messing around tonight? Get some in before your appointment?” Mickey looked at him.

“‘Mess around’?” He asked, wanting clarification. Ian bit his lip and began leaning in slowly, giving Mickey a chance to back away, but he didn’t. He found himself tilting his head to meet Ian’s lips, but the redhead swooped down a little lower and caught Mickey’s jaw, kissing it softly before moving down. Mickey lifted his chin a little and Ian ran his teeth over Mickey’s skin, giving him chills, before kissing his throat again. Mickey felt like he should panic, and part of him wanted to, strictly because he was used to doing just that in situations like these, but in this case- with this particular action- he was as calm as he was when he was simply talking to Ian. Mickey felt Ian’s tongue trail up his jaw and he opened his eyes as Ian leaned in for one more slow kiss, watching him as their lips collided until they pulled apart.

“Like that.” Ian said. Mickey nodded, staring at Ian’s mouth.

“Okay we can try that.” He said quietly. Ian nodded and backed up.

“After dinner. When everyone’s asleep.” Mickey smiled and nodded, turning away.

Ian’s plans for dinner, it turned out, were bad. He spent hours in the kitchen, staring at his phone while hopping back and forth between the counter and the stove, smoke billowing from a skillet and curses flying from his mouth as he burned himself on grease that popped from the pan. In the end, everyone was left with some kind of pasta sauce with burnt bits stirred right in, the asparagus as black as the pan it was cooked in. They all tried to eat it, but in the end, it was Ian himself that insisted they order a pizza and throw his efforts in the trash.

“You tried.” Mandy assured, patting him on the back as he scraped his plate into the trash can.

“It was so bad, though.” Iggy said quietly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe how badly Ian had fucked dinner up. Mickey kicked the back of his knee, making his leg buckle and causing him to almost fall down. “The fuck, dick?” Iggy yelled, backhanding his little brother. Mickey laughed and dodged it, sliding his plate into the sink. The night went on as it usually did, with the four of them talking and cracking jokes. It wasn’t until around eleven that Iggy decided to go home, thus prompting everyone to go to bed. Mickey had brushed his teeth and was waiting, sitting with his back against the headboard of his bed when Ian slipped in and gently shut the door, pressing his ear against it as if he were listening for someone who’d been following him.

“Paranoid?” Ian nodded and listened for a minute longer before heading straight to his spot by the closet door and sitting down, crossing his legs. Mickey didn’t say anything, feeling somewhat awkward. He often wondered if what he felt was because of his issues, or because of how flat out awkward the situations with Ian really were.

“What are you thinking about?” Ian asked. Mickey looked at him and saw that he was staring. It was something he hated, but he didn’t feel bothered when Ian did it.

“This.” Mickey said. Ian hesitated, but got up and raised his eyebrows, silently asking permission to sit next to Mickey, which he was given. He rested his back against the headboard alongside Mickey and watched him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I...” He was obviously embarrassed and Ian kicked his foot.

“Spit it out, dick.” Mickey smiled and shook his head.

“I like this. I feel...” He glanced at Ian, who looked away when he saw how uncomfortable Mickey was getting. “Normal.”

“You’re-”

“Don’t fuckin say it, man. I’m nowhere near normal. I get it, and I don’t need you sayin otherwise. It just is what it is.” Ian nodded and Mickey finally looked at him again. He surprised him by putting his hand on the back of Ian’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss, immediately taking Ian’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it. Ian smiled against his lips and turned more to face him, deepening the kiss more so Mickey’s head was pressed back against the headboard. Ian kissed down to Mickey’s chin and tilted his head as he went lower, sucking gently on his throat. Mickey lifted his chin up to give Ian more room and welcomed his lips back as Ian kissed up to his mouth again before pulling back.

“Good?” Ian asked. Mickey nodded and leaned in again, crashing their lips together. He turned his body and ended up standing on his knees, hovering over Ian for a minute before cautiously lifting his leg to put it over Ian’s waist. Ian timidly grabbed his thigh to help him and broke the kiss. “This okay?” He asked, pulling Mickey’s leg over so he was straddling Ian’s lap. Mickey nodded, though he felt his heart speed up, and he kissed Ian again, still scared to sit down. Ian moved his hands from the backs of Mickey’s thighs to his hips and opened his eyes, staring up at Mickey, waiting for him to show any signs of protest as he pulled him down into a seated position on his lap. He leaned up to catch Mickey’s lips again, and found that he didn’t kiss him back. “Hey.”.

“I’m alright. Gimme a minute.” Ian nodded and took his hands off of Mickey, letting them fall to his sides. Mickey tried not to focus on the fact that he was sitting on Ian’s crotch, or that they were in the middle of making out heavily.

“Did you know Kenyatta had a tattoo of Porky Pig on his ass?” Ian blurted out. Mickey stopped his breathing exercises to look at Ian in confusion.

“What?”

“Kenyatta? Kenny? Mandy’s ex, he had a tattoo of Porky Pig on his ass.”

“How the fuck do you even know that?” Mickey asked, appalled at the thought of his sister’s abusive ex-boyfriend.

“I was helping her clean out her drawers to make room for my shit and there were all these naked pictures of him. Pretty gross shit.”

“Yeah well he was pretty fuckin gross.” Mickey said, looking away. He began his breathing exercises again, but realized he no longer needed them. He looked at Ian, who seemed intrigued with the drawstring on Mickey’s pants, which he was twisting around his fingers as he waited for Mickey to calm down. He realized then what Ian had done- telling a random stupid story that meant nothing to Mickey just to take his mind off of what was happening, and why he was panicking. Mickey relaxed, putting all his weight on Ian’s lap and getting his attention.

“You okay?” Mickey nodded and leaned in again, kissing Ian slowly and closing his eyes. Everything in his head told him to take full advantage of the fact that he hadn’t yet been exposed to whatever the fuck was in the files in Clint’s office. He lifted his chin up as Ian kissed down to his throat again and he smiled when he felt Ian’s hand snake up the back of his neck, holding him in place as his lips, teeth, and tongue ran over Mickey’s neck. It was doing more for him than any of the kissing had, and Mickey felt the flush that usually affected only his face spread through his entire body and he let out a shaky breath as Ian kissed back up to his mouth. Mickey found himself attacking Ian’s mouth with his own, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him forward. Ian, taking the initiative, stood up on his knees and lifted Mickey, placing a hand on the small of his back and pushing him down onto the mattress, where he rested between his legs and continued kissing him roughly.

That was it. Mickey felt his body seize up, feeling as if he had no control over it. His lips would no longer move, and Ian realized it quickly, jumping off of him and spewing a long, unending string of apologies that Mickey couldn’t hear. Every time Ian’s hands came near him, he shoved them away, and that was all he could think to do. Curl up, and hit back. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to breathe, but completely unable to focus. He felt dizzy, like the room was spinning, but it wasn’t constant. It came in waves and as soon as he felt like it had stopped and he could sit up, it would hit again.

“Mick? Mick breathe, man, come on.” Mickey felt tears falling, but couldn’t move to wipe them from the bridge of his nose so he just let them fall. “Look at me.” Ian boldly grabbed Mickey’s face and forced him to look up at him. He stared at his friend, his entire body shaking, and he instantly felt guilty for the fear he saw in Ian’s eyes. “Breathe.” It wasn’t a request, and Mickey took a deep breath, not realizing he hadn’t actually been breathing, hence Ian’s panic. “There. Okay keep breathing.” Ian let go of him and backed up, his hands in plain sight so Mickey could see them. He kept his eyes glued to Ian and breathed along with him until the panic attack passed. Once he’d regained his senses, he sat up and got off the bed, his legs still somewhat weak and making him stumble. Ian watched closely as he went into his dresser and pulled out the anxiety meds Clint had given him, taking one without water and keeping his back to Ian. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mick. I swear to god I don’t know what came over me-”

“Not your fault.” Mickey insisted. He turned and looked at him. “It’s never gonna be your fault, alright? Just like it’s not mine, right?” Ian hesitated, but nodded. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

“You’re not okay right now-”

“No, I’m not.” Mickey said, cutting him off. “I’m not fucking okay, alright? I’m not okay with being like this and I’m never going to be. You can tell me it’ll pass as many times as you want, but it doesn’t make it feel better when I gotta stop something I really wanna do every fucking time I try to do it because something in my head is fucked. So, I’m not alright right now, and I won’t be alright the next time it happens, or the next time. I won’t be okay until it stops happening, but that’s got nothing to do with you, so you got nothing to worry about.” Ian nodded and got off the bed, walking to the door. “Thanks for trying again. It means a lot.”

“Yeah... I’m really-”

“You apologize again, I’ll slit your throat. Go to bed.” Mickey said. Ian smiled and nodded.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.” Mickey said. Ian slipped out into the dark hall and Mickey stood with his back against his door, his heart still slightly racing in his chest. He locked his door and walked back over to his bed, slipping under the covers. There was nothing in him that wanted to even think about taking care of the problem that had risen in his pants, and he stared at the wall, doing now-unnecessary breathing exercises to relax himself so he could actually sleep before his next big therapy appointment. It had turned out to be a somewhat rough day and he knew from here on out, it was only going to get harder.

 


	9. Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter but it seemed like a good place to end it.
> 
> Brief graphic talk of abuse so if that's not good for you, don't read this.

_"Well, I looked my demons in the eyes_   
_laid bare my chest, said 'Do your best, destroy me._   
_You see, I've been to hell and back so many times,_   
_I must admit you kind of bore me.'"_

-Ray Lamontagne "Empty"

 

Iggy and Mandy both insisted on escorting Mickey to his first session that focused on the files. Mickey, annoyed by it, had decided not to speak a single word the entire morning, avoiding eye contact due to the aggravation he felt being coddled as he was. He was also very confused when, upon emerging from his office, Clint summoned Mandy rather than Mickey. She went with him to his office and he closed the door, leaving Mickey sitting next to his older brother in the waiting room.

“You gonna keep treating us like we’re assholes cause we’re worried about you?” Mickey stared at Clint’s door, not wanting to talk. He could see Iggy staring at him from the corner of his eye, but he chose not to acknowledge him. “I get that you’re pissed off and you don’t want to be treated like a fucking kid, Mick, but you don’t have to be a prick just cause we’re doing what family is supposed to do. We’re not here cause we think you’re gonna shatter in there, we’re here to show support.”

“I get that.” Mickey finally said, his voice low as if he didn’t want the girls behind the front desk to hear. “I get the concern, and the need to support, and all that shit, alright? I fucking get it, but that’s not what it feels like. Whether it is what you say it is or not, it feels how it feels, get it?”

“I get it.” Iggy sat forward. “You’re not the type to ask for help or any of that shit. I know that. You’re not gonna walk out of that room crying, begging for comfort. You’re gonna leave that room, and you’re gonna be quiet, and you’re gonna stare at the fucking carpet like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen, we’re gonna walk to the car, where you’re gonna stare out the fucking window til we get you home, then you’re gonna go straight to your room, take some pills, and go to bed, probably waking up a few hours later covered in piss. It’s a fucking given, Mickey, and I don’t want it to happen anymore.” Mickey stared at him angrily, knowing he was right, which he fucking hated. “You’re here to fucking change.”

“And if I don’t?” Mickey asked defiantly. He shrugged his shoulders. “Say nothing changes, or I get worse. You gonna hate me? Are you gonna keep talking to me like this? Like I’m a fucking disappointment to you? I’m fucking sorry I’m not fucking sunshine and rainbows for you, Iggs. Real fucking sorry.”

“Don’t be fucking dramatic. Don’t blow this into some huge fight, Mick. You know what I’m trying to say. Don’t play the victim. You’re gonna get better because you want to get better. You found this doctor. You ordered those files. You’re taking the initiative, not us. You want this. What I want is for you to fucking talk to me so I know what you need. I’m your brother, alright? I know I’ve been a fuck up and I wasn’t always there, and trust me, I beat the fuck out of myself every day for that, but I’m here now and I need you to talk to me.” Mickey stared at him, feeling his chest getting tight at the sight of his brother actually getting emotional. “Can you do that?” Iggy wiped his eyes before any tears could fall, and looked around as if to make sure nobody saw it. “Can you walk out of there after all of this, and talk to us?”

“I don’t want to talk about it-”

“Not it, Mickey, you. Talk to us about you. Tell us how you’re feeling, if it wasn’t as bad as you thought, or if it was way worse. Tell us what you want for dinner- whatever. Just don’t shut down. You go to your room when we get home, and I’m gonna sit in there with you the whole time.”

“Igg-”

“Mickey.” They both looked up to see Mandy leaving the office. “He’s ready for you.” Mickey stood up, extremely eager to get away from his brother and the somewhat infuriating conversation they were having.

“The fuck he want you for?” He asked. Mandy jerked her head in the direction of the door.

“He’ll tell you. Go on.” She said, walking over and sitting next to Iggy. Mickey took one last look at them and walked in, closing the door behind him. He looked at Clint, who was organizing some papers and putting them into an envelope.

“What did you say to her?”

“I didn’t say anything to her, Mickey. She’s in the reports. I wanted her to sign consent forms so I could discuss her part in everything during your sessions. Formalities. Go ahead and sit on the couch.” Mickey obeyed him and sat on the oversized leather sofa that seemed to surround him as he sank down into it. He was comforted by it, and always wondered if that was the reason Clint had the couch in his office, or if anyone else felt more at ease when they sat in it. “I organized these into levels of severity. Top of the stack is the mild stuff, the bottom is the worst, in my opinion. That’s one way we can go over these.”

“That’s how you said we should.”

“I did say that, but I also toyed with the idea of going by age.” Mickey stared at the files and saw Post-Its sticking out of the edges. Something was written on each one, but he couldn’t read them from where he was sitting.

“What’s the youngest?” He asked, not taking his eyes off the Post-Its. Clint followed his line of sight and then looked back at him.

“Mickey, it’s extremely possible that these files don’t cover everything that happened to you. They’re individual reports on the videos found on the computer your brother turned in to the police.” Mickey looked over the stack again. It was huge, and the thought of it not covering everything made him feel sick.

“What’s the youngest?” He asked again, his voice a little quieter.

“In these reports, the youngest you were was five years old.” Mickey took a second to let it sink in, but he felt nothing. It didn’t feel real, or like they were even talking about him. “Do you want me to go by age?”

“Youngest is the worst?” Mickey asked, trying to look at Clint, but for some reason feeling too embarrassed. He took a breath.

“Youngest is the most disturbing for obvious reasons. I consider it the worst because of your age, and the actions, but there are files with equally traumatic events in them, you just happen to be slightly older in them.” Mickey nodded, waiting as Clint took a file with a red Post-It out of the stack. “Are you ready, Mickey?” He asked. Mickey smiled and shook his head.

“Never gonna be, so you might as well start.” Clint nodded and opened the folder. He looked over it and Mickey looked up to watch him read it.

“In the video, you’re five years old. You’re stripped naked and nearly a half hour is filmed of you being violated by two men, who used their hands and mouths. It says if you protested, you were slapped in the face, causing a split lip and a bloody nose. The video ends with them both taking turns raping you.” Clint closed the file and looked at Mickey, who stared at the man’s hands, unable to look away. “Mickey?”

“Can I see?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level, but failing to stop it from cracking as he spoke. Clint got up and handed him the file, which Mickey opened immediately. He read what was written, seeing details that Clint hadn’t given, probably because they were too obscene to be spoken about out loud. Mickey hadn’t realized he was crying until two tears fell to the pages. He wiped them off and wiped his eyes quickly, sniffing as he forced himself to stop. “It says it was the first time.”

“It says the men in the video said it was your first time. There’s no way of telling for sure.” Clint clarified. Mickey looked back at the paper.

“I stopped fighting them.”

“You checked out. Remember what we were talking about? About your mind protecting you from what your body goes through? That’s when it happened. I saw it mentioned in most of the other files, you go basically catatonic and just let them do whatever they want.” Mickey stared at the papers in his lap, but didn’t see any of it. His eyes were glazed over with tears that threatened to fall if he even dared to blink. “What’s going through your head, Mick?” He looked up, forcing the tears down his cheeks, where they were wiped off. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“Five?” He asked, shocked. “I mean... Shoulda been playing with Hot Wheels and shit, you know? And this is what I got.” He looked back at the file. “Like... It says there was blood when they were done. How could I just lay there if it was that bad?”

“I’ve heard of it happening before.” Mickey shook his head and closed the file. “Mickey?”

“I don’t want to do this.” He said, standing up. Clint jumped to his feet.

“Mickey-” Mickey put his hands up, getting them out of reach as Clint attempted to grab his wrist.

“Don’t, alright? I’m going home.” He opened the door and stormed out, making both of his siblings jump to their feet, but he paid them no attention as he bolted out the door and headed toward the car.

“Mickey?” Iggy yelled, but he ignored him, reacting only to the feeling of a hand on his back. He spun around and shoved whoever it was- Mandy. She walked right back up to him and roughly pulled him in for a hug, shoving his head down to her shoulder.

“Don’t fucking walk away from us.” She scolded, gently swaying him from side to side as his body shook from holding in his sobs. By the time Iggy had finished talking to Clint and made it out to where Mickey and Mandy were, Mickey had finished crying, and when Iggy grabbed his upper arm tightly, Mickey lifted his head, exposing his red and somewhat swollen eyes to him. There was no hesitation when Iggy pulled him into a hug, and Mickey allowed his brother’s strong grip to smother him against his chest. Iggy didn’t have any words, and he wasn’t gentle like Mandy was, but something about the way he held Mickey tightly comforted him, and he closed his eyes, letting it happen.

“Home?” Iggy asked. Mickey nodded against his chest and Iggy gave him one final squeeze before kissing his hair and letting him go, not so much as giving him another look before he walked to the car, expecting the younger two to follow.

The drive home was silent and once they arrived at their apartment, Mickey walked straight to the living room couch and sat down, remembering what Iggy had told him at the office. He didn’t notice Ian standing in the hall, keeping his distance. The redhead looked at Iggy, who shook his head. As if the oldest Milkovich had actually said something, Ian nodded and walked back to Mandy’s room, leaving the family to sit together on the couch.


	10. Weightless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't any lyrics to this chapter because the song it's named after is just music, as mentioned later in the chapter. I'll give a link to it at the end.
> 
> Also, I don't even have the words to properly tell you guys how much your comments have meant to me. Honestly. Every time I get an email saying there's a new comment, I get giddy. You guys are the absolute best and I love you.

The day was spent lounging around the living room with hardly anyone talking. A couple hours after the three of them got home, Iggy turned the TV on, making sure the volume was low. They sat watching the Food channel, but not really processing anything that played out before them. After feeling that it was rude to not include Ian, Mandy excused herself and went to her room, presumably to hang out with him. Mickey was left, once again, with Iggy, who had decided to spend the night. After hours of neither of them speaking a word, Iggy got up to go take a shower and it was then that Mickey finally spoke.

“What did you see?” He asked, his voice sounding quiet and weak. Iggy stopped in his tracks and turned to him, confused. “You said you saw a couple minutes of one of the tapes. What happened on it?” Iggy looked away and shook his head. His silence caused Mickey to finally look at him. “You guys want me to open up and deal, and you won’t even-”

“You and Mandy.” Iggy said, looking Mickey in the eye. “I saw a couple minutes of you two just sitting there on chairs. You had clothes on and everything, but you were both crying. Mandy looked fucking terrified. You were holding her hand and I remember thinking you were hurting her cause your knuckles were white, but she didn’t seem to care.” Something was different in Iggy’s voice whenever he talked about that day, and now was no exception. He spoke lower than he usually did, the attitude he usually spat was nowhere to be heard. Mickey stared at him, feeling humiliated without even knowing what his brother had seen. “It just cut.” Iggy shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “One second, you two were sitting there, and the next...” He looked away and Mickey noticed the wetness in his eyes before he wiped it away and cleared his throat. “You two were on your backs, you were naked and Mandy had a cut on her cheek, it already looked bruised. There were men with their heads between your legs, and every time one of you made a sound, the other got hit, and you were both crying, trying to keep it in and just the sound of it-” He shook his head. “I turned it off. There wasn’t anything in me that could handle seeing any more than I already had... I fucking paced the room, looking around trying to get it out of my head and I ended up puking. And I knew Dad was gonna be home any time and I had to do something so I grabbed the laptop the video was on and I got you two and we left. You remember what happened after that.” Mickey nodded and neither of them spoke for a couple minutes. Mickey leaned his head back on the couch and Iggy walked back over, taking his seat again on the chair he’d been sitting on.

“I was five in the one he read.” Mickey said, wanting to open up more, but terrified to do so. He stared at the ceiling, hoping his brother wasn’t looking at him. “There were two men.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words to describe what was done to him. He wanted his brother to know so he could understand just how bad it really was. “It said when they were done, I was bleeding and Clint told me that when the report says I zoned out, that was me dissociating. That’s why I don’t remember, I just shut down.”

“Did you remember any of it when he read it to you? Anything spark any memories?” Mickey sat up straight and shook his head. He put his head down and thought about telling Iggy about Ian, and about how that sparked memories, but nothing specific, but he didn’t know how he’d react and he didn’t want any more stress or issues to come up. “You gonna go back?” Iggy asked. That was the question, wasn’t it? Was he going to go back? Yes, he wanted to get better, he wanted to know everything, he wanted to be able to live a normal life and do what everyone else did, and just be fucking fixed, but at what cost? Going back meant facing it. It meant hearing words he didn’t want to hear and feeling humiliated, even though he had no control over anything that had happened to him. It meant feeling sick and crying, not wanting anyone near him, and having every fucking person in his life walking on egg shells around him. However, it also meant he’d be trying. It proved he wasn’t weak, and that he could handle anything. It meant he was willing to fight, cry, and suffer to get the life he so desperately wanted, and when he thought about people who did that- people who just fucking did what they needed to do, no matter how difficult it may be, he felt admiration for them. He thought maybe, some day in the future, he could look back and feel that same admiration for himself, or people could feel it themselves when they thought about him, and they’d be proud. He looked at Iggy.

“You think I should?”

“I think if you do, he’ll tell you what to do and talk you through it. He’s got skills nobody here has, and he knows you and how to help you.” Mickey shook his head.

“It’s fucking humiliating. People knowing-”

“Nobody’s gotta know, Mick. Just you and him, and he ain’t telling anyone. Nobody here’s gonna ask. I think you should chill for a day or two, try to see if you end up feeling any better, if you do feel better, you go back.”

“If I don’t?” Mickey asked, causing his brother to shrug his shoulders.

“You go back.” He said simply. “You’re not a kid anymore, Mick. You don’t gotta keep your head down and take whatever bullshit life throws at you. You’ve already been through the worst shit you could’ve gone through, now you just gotta clean up the mess it left.” Mickey felt a faint calmness as he listened to his brother. Iggy was a brutally honest son of a bitch that often got on Mickey’s nerves, but he had the ability to bring peace to his siblings when he felt they really needed it. He was smart, and he made sense. “Nothing that guy says can hurt you, cause you’ve already been there. Already done that, you know? And it ain’t happening again. It’s all over, it’s fucking done, and you’re both here. You’re alive, you survived it, you grew up, and look at you. You got your issues, but we all fucking do. You didn’t let it turn you into a piece of shit like it could’ve. You’re a good person, Mick. You didn’t let any of this shit fuck with your heart, and you’re strong enough to keep it from fucking with your head.” Mickey looked down and smiled. They sat there for a minute before Mickey looked at him again.

“Thank you.” Iggy shook his head. “It means a lot, you sticking around while I’m trying to figure this shit out. I know you’ve got your own life and you’re kinda putting it aside to be here for me.” Iggy scoffed.

“It ain’t all for you. I’m a lazy motherfucker and people here cook all the time so I don’t gotta feed myself.” Mickey laughed and shook his head, standing up. “Speaking of which, what’re we having?” Mickey shook his head.

“I don’t know. Go get burgers or something.” Iggy shook his head and got up, reluctantly grabbing his keys.

“I fuckin tell you I come here for food and you make me go pick dinner up. It’s like you were just flat out born to fuck with me.” He muttered, leaving the apartment. Mickey smiled and walked down the hall, only to be shoved against the wall by Mandy as she ran by him.

“Iggy! Wait!” She darted out the door after her brother and Mickey was left stunned for a second before he turned to head to his room, coming face to face with Ian, who was obviously making an effort to keep his distance.

“Hey.” Ian said.

“Hi.” Mickey didn’t know what to say. He didn’t feel like talking, or explaining that he had absolutely no interest in their usual activities at the moment, so they stood quietly until Ian reached in his pocket and pulled out an old iPod. Mickey smiled. “You find that on an archaeological dig?” Ian smiled and looked at it.

“It still works, I’m not buying a new one.” He explained. “Um... Mandy told me you had a rough day and I wanted to do something to help so... There’s this song that calms me down- It’s not really a song, it’s really just a bunch of sounds and stuff but it knocks me out every time I hear it so I put it on a playlist by itself. If you wanna listen to it, it’ll play on a loop. I thought maybe it’ll help you wind down a little?” He offered his iPod to Mickey, who took it and looked at the blank screen. “It’s on a playlist with your name on it.” Mickey nodded and looked back at Ian. “I have to go to work, but I can stay til they get back if you-”

“I’m okay. Really, you can go don’t worry.” Ian nodded. “And, uh, thanks.” He said, holding up the iPod. Ian nodded and walked by Mickey.

“I’ll see you later, Mick.” Ian called, not turning around.

“Bye.” He heard the door open and close and he shoved the iPod into his back pocket, walking to his room. He grabbed his towel from it’s spot on the bedpost and grabbed a clean pair of boxers from his top drawer, heading to the bathroom for a shower. It was a quick one, as he chose to merely rinse off, wet his hair, and wash his face, which felt much better after all the crying he’d done during the day. Afterward, he dried off and pulled on his boxers before walking to his room to dig through his dirty clothes for pajama pants and a tank top.

“Dinner, asshole!” Mandy yelled. A smile came to Mickey’s face. He was glad he wasn’t being handled with kid’s gloves. He walked out to join his brother and sister for dinner in front of the TV, enjoying the lighter conversations they were having about why Ren was an asshole, and Stimpy was annoying as fuck, and the cause of Ren being an asshole. It took two hours of cartoons for the three of them to decide that they were ready for bed. Mickey said his goodnights, and hugged Iggy and Mandy before going to his room and shutting the door. Realizing he’d made a mess by sifting through his dirty clothes, he began picking everything up off the floor, only to have Ian’s iPod fall out of his dirty jeans and onto his foot. He tossed it on the bed and finished what he was doing before grabbing his headphones off the dresser and getting onto his stripped bed. He took a couple minutes to sift through Ian’s iPod to see what kind of music he listened to, but there was nothing out of the ordinary for a guy in his early twenties, so he headed back to the playlists and found the one with his name on it. After clicking it, he saw only one song- “Weightless”. He settled into his pillows, put on his headphones, and pressed play.

It started with a subtle heartbeat like sound, and a tune that got louder a little at a time, stopping before Mickey thought it might become distracting. At only a few seconds in, he realized it wasn’t a song at all, just a bunch of wavy, soothing noises. He lowered the volume, placed the iPod on his chest, and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. He didn’t make it to the end of the song before he was asleep, sprawled out on his bed with no blanket and Ian’s iPod resting on top of him.

It was a deep sleep, which was usually a bad thing, but when Mickey woke up with a start to a hand on his shoulder, he noticed the song was still playing and it was light outside. He sat up, panicked and looked at himself, shocked to find that he was dry. He took the headphones off and searched for the iPod to stop it from playing. Mandy handed Mickey her phone and he took it, confused.

“Hello?” He asked drowsily.

“Hey did I wake you up?” Clint asked.

“Yeah.” Mickey rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“I was just checking up on you. You left upset yesterday.”

“‘Upset’? Just a fucking tad.” Mickey said, looking around for his own phone to check the time. 8:27am.

“Understatement, I guess, huh?”

“Ya think?” He asked sarcastically.

“I just wanted to let you know, no pressure whatsoever, but whenever you’re ready, if you want to continue what we started, just give me a call and I’ll make time for you. I’m willing to shift my schedule around to make this whole process easier.” Mickey stood up and grabbed the same dirty jeans from the day before, tossing them onto his bed.

“You this persistent with all your patients?”

“Just the ones I actually give a shit about. Just let me know, alright? Even if you don’t want to keep going.”

“Today?” Mickey asked, speaking before he could change his mind. He closed his eyes, breathing deep and trying to keep calm at the thought of a repeat of the previous day’s incident.

“I got an opening at two.” Mickey nodded, somewhat upset that Clint was actually able to make time for him.

“Alright, I’ll be there.”

“Writing you in now.” Mickey waited for Clint’s final confirmation.

“Why’d you call Mandy’s phone?”

“She’s your emergency contact. You weren’t answering your phone so I called her. I was worried.” Mickey nodded and took a shirt out of his closet. “Okay, you’re in. See you at two.”

“Bye.” He didn’t wait for Clint to respond before he took the phone away from his ear and hit the End Call button. “Mandy!” His sister walked back in and took her phone, walking back out to the hall as Ian walked toward her room, drying his hair. “Hey-” The redhead stopped and looked at him, staying a few steps away like he did before either of them had gotten close. “The music helped.” Ian smiled. “Thanks.” He held out the iPod and Ian shook his head.

“You can keep it for now.” Mickey looked at the outdated piece of crap in his hand and felt grateful for it.

“Alright, thanks.”

“Glad it worked for you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Ian raised his eyebrows, as if he suddenly remembered something.

“Oh! I talked to my boss and told him you needed a few days so you can start Monday if you’re up for it. If you’re not, don’t worry, I can tell him you need more time.” Mickey nodded.

“He’s that lenient?” Ian shrugged.

“He has to be, I’m his only employee. He pisses me off, I walk, he’s fucked.” Mickey smiled, nodding.

“Alright, thanks.” Ian smiled and walked to Mandy’s room, leaving Mickey to close his door and get dressed for the day, trying to think of absolutely anything but two o’clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the song mentioned in the chapter (on a 10-hour loop): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKsEqFgKhoA
> 
> I hope you like sleeping.


	11. Breathe Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some more disturbing talk about abuse in this chapter as well, but if you could handle what was talked about before, this chapter should be pretty easy for you to deal with. As usual, thank you so much for reading this.

_"Be my friend_  
Hold me, wrap me up  
Unfold me  
I am small and needy  
Warm me up  
And breathe me"

-Sia "Breathe Me"

 

When Mickey walked into Clint’s office, he saw that the files had been divided into smaller stacks and placed on the floor according to the colors of the Post-Its stuck to them. The stack with the green tags rested to the right of Clint, and they both took their seats in silence. After neither of them spoke for a while, Mickey looked at Clint, who looked somewhat distraught.

“I fucked up, Mick.” He said. “I had a plan to ease you into this and I went against that plan and it was a really shitty decision on my part. I’m sorry.” Mickey nodded, accepting the apology he didn’t think he deserved or would get. “There’s twenty files here.” He continued, placing his hand on top of the green tagged folders. “I’m not going to say that they’re not bad, but compared to the others, they’re mild.”

“Define ‘mild’.” Mickey said quietly.

“There’s no explicit sexual acts. There’s no penetration, oral, and no touching of either you or Mandy’s genitals.” Mickey cringed at what Clint was saying. It all sounded so clinical. His second thought was one of utter terror, when he realized that less than half of the reports didn’t contain those things. He looked at the orange and pink tagged stacks on the floor, and saw that the pink vastly outnumbered the orange. He felt sick. “Talk to me, Mickey.” He didn’t take his eyes off of the files on the floor.

“So, how many-” He nodded towards the files and Clint looked at them.

“There’s fifty seven files in total. Twenty mild, ten that mention oral and digital molestation, Twenty seven that include actual rape, whether by objects, or by the men themselves.” Mickey’s eyes shot up to Clint.

“Objects?”

“Sex toys.” Clint clarified.

“Jesus fucking Christ." Mickey muttered as he shook his head and sat back in shock.

“Upon reading the files, Mickey, something became clear to me.” Mickey stared at him. “You’ve always been bothered and confused at the fact that Mandy seems to remember more than you do. All this time, you’ve thought something was wrong with you.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Mandy was only in three of these reports, Mickey.” All Mickey could feel at that moment was relief, and he nodded, not knowing what else to do or say. “She’s in two of the mild, and one severe.”

“So she was-” Clint nodded.

“She was raped and she remembers it. She remained coherent through it and didn’t dissociate like you did, but that doesn’t make anything wrong with you, as you’d been through so much more.” Mickey nodded. “Do you mind if I open one of these and see if you remember anything?” Mickey froze, remembering how he felt through the first one they did. He had to fght it, though. He’d been through enough therapy to know that he had to stop and think before making decisions that would affect him. The files were mild in Clint’s opinion, and after seeing what one of the severe files had done to him, Mickey was confident that what Clint categorized as “mild” surely was just that. He nodded and watched Clint take one of the files from the stack. Mickey felt nervous the entire time Clint was reading it. “Do you remember a man named Christian Wallace?” Mickey tried hard to think, digging into every memory he had, but he found nothing.

“No.” Clint nodded.

“He is one of the ones they identified and caught. He was killed in prison. He’s in several of the reports, which means he made several films with you. In this one, he’s sitting in a chair with you and Mandy sitting on each of his thighs. His pants were unbuttoned and he took turns putting two fingers in each of your mouths until you’d gag. Once you gagged, he’d move to Mandy, then back to you. It says Mandy began crying and the seventh time he gagged her, she threw up and that was the end of it.” Mickey thought of what the report and the video could’ve been insinuating. It was pretty obvious, really. “Mickey? How bad is that in your mind? Obviously bad, I know, but how does it make you feel? What’re you thinking?” Mickey shrugged.

“I mean, compared to yesterday, it’s nothing, but you know what he was doing- what they were meaning by it.” Clint nodded. “It’s still sick and I feel weird about it, but not like yesterday. Kind of a gross feeling in my stomach.” Clint nodded and took some notes.

“Do you think this is going to affect you? Is it going to eat at you after you go home?”

“A little, maybe, but I think I can handle it.” Clint continued writing and then looked at Mickey.

“You up for another one?” Mickey nodded, not thinking too much of it. Clint grabbed another one and skimmed it. “This one’s just you. You’re in your underwear, sitting on a man’s lap facing him. It says here, there’s no movement and he doesn’t appear to be using you for sexual stimulation, but he is touching your back, but nothing else.” Mickey thought of it.

“How old was I?”

“Six.” A six year old boy straddling a full grown man. It was a visual that made Mickey feel sick. He thought about the points of contact and how, if the man wanted, all it would take is a little friction between them for it to get worse.

“It stops with me on him?” Clint shook his head and looked at the paper again.

“He lets you down, you walk off camera, and it says you ask if you’re allowed to eat now.” Mickey thought about it and nodded.

“He used to feed us twice a day. We had to share. I remember that.” Clint wrote some things down.

“So are we assuming he withheld food to get you to participate?”

“If that’s what I said in the video, that’s what it seems like.” Clint nodded and wrote some more.

“The fact that you remember something is a great breakthrough, Mick. Even if it doesn’t have to do with the files, you remembered.” Mickey looked at his hands, which were intertwined in his lap. “Are you willing to go over more? Or are you starting to feel overwhelmed?”

“Little jittery but not too bad. I think I can do a couple more.”

“Have you been using the pills I prescribed?” Mickey shook his head.

“I’m not used to having to take pills. I always forget they’re there.”

“Set a reminder on your phone. It’s okay to take them as needed, like before you come here and you think you may be really affected by it, or you can just take one in the morning to keep you calm throughout the day. Take up to two a day.”

“Okay.”

“Another?”

“Yeah.” Mickey said, sinking back into the couch as Clint grabbed a file. Mickey’s eyes went back to the files on the floor and he jumped when Clint spoke.

“You and Mandy are sitting in your underwear with no shirts on and whoever is operating the camera reaches in and grabs your jaw. He tells you to open your mouth as wide as you can, he asks Mandy to do the same. He zooms in on your mouths and puts his fingers in. He tells you to suck them and as you do, he moves his fingers in and out of your mouth. After about half a minute, he moves on to Mandy and does the same to her. After she’s done, you’re told you can go back to your room. That’s the end of it.” Mickey stared at the ground. “Mickey?”

“I can’t go to the dentist cause I panic when they put their hands in my mouth. I haven’t been there in six years.” Clint wrote it down.

“So you’ve had body memories in non-sexual situations as well as sexual.” Mickey nodded. “And are they about the same or is one worse?”

“They’re both bad in their own ways. Sexual’s bad cause if I’m horny enough to get to that point, and I have to stop, I get frustrated, angry, and scared all at the same time. It’s overwhelming and that’s when I usually drink. Day-to-day shit is bad because it seems like there’s no reason for it. It’s not a sexual situation. I’m not about to get violated, and it kinda keeps me from doing things I need to do.”

“What about doctor visits? Do you get physicals?” Mickey shook his head.

“Iggy didn’t make me, he just told me if I’m not getting physically checked, I had to get blood work to at least check that, so I do it once a year to keep him off my back.

“So far, nothing?” Mickey shook his head.

“Nothing. After everything that happened, he was scared we might’ve caught something, so he forced us to see doctors all the time, and I’d cry and fight it, but he didn’t care. he did the whole tough love thing, telling me I’d understand later, and I do. We were clean, though, and he stopped making me go. Switched to the blood tests.”

“Did they do rape kits on you?” Mickey nodded, not wanting to think about it.

“They, um...” He was having trouble saying it. “They found a few different people’s...” He looked at Clint, who was writing.

“They found evidence of the rapes?” He asked, making it easier.

“They used what they found on us to identify five men.” Clint nodded and returned to his pad of paper to write more notes.

“So, you’re still unable to be examined by a doctor?”

“I’m unable to sit in my underwear on a cold table and have a strange man I don’t know put his hands on me, yes.” Clint didn’t smile.

“I want to take this easy, Mickey. I want to stop here for today, and I want you to go home and try to have a good day. I don’t want you over thinking these things because they’ve already happened. These aren’t things you have to worry about, just things you need to process. During our next appointment, we’ll talk about how you’ve coped since you’ve found these out and go from there.” Mickey nodded and watched Clint take the green tags off of the files they had already looked at. He got out of his chair and used a key to unlock one of his cabinets where he proceeded to stack the files before closing and locking it again. Mickey stood up and walked to the door, opening it and heading straight to the front desk without looking at Iggy, who was eyeballing him from his place on a couch, an outdated issue of People magazine in his hands. Once Mickey’s appointment was made, he walked over to his brother, who joined him straight out the front door without a word. It wasn’t until they were halfway home that Mickey spoke.

“I’m okay.” He assured. Iggy looked at him as he came to a stop at a red light. “He went over a few that weren’t nearly as bad as the other one. Gross but not too bad. I’m okay.” Iggy nodded.

“You know if you ever tell me you’re okay, and you’re not, I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out with a spoon, right?” Mickey smiled and looked at him, nodding.

“I’m okay.” He repeated. Iggy nodded and stepped on the gas as the light changed. They made it home quickly, Iggy dropping Mickey off in order to go have a meeting with his boss about some contract or something Mickey wasn’t paying attention to. When he walked through the door, He immediately saw Ian lounging on the couch watching some reality show about some family doing something.

“Hey.” Ian said, smiling over his shoulder.

“Hi. Where’s Mandy?”

“Picked up some chick’s shift. She thinks the girl’s on crack, but she isn’s sure enough to use it as blackmail yet, so she’s remaining on her good side.” Mickey smiled and locked all the locks on the door. “Where’s Iggy?”

“Work shit.” He couldn’t stop staring at Ian, wondering if continuing what they were doing was a good idea. Despite being informed of the disgusting acts he was subjected to as a child, he felt okay. Not perfect, but okay. He bit his lip and walked to his room to sit on his bed so he could think. The two of them were home alone, so despite it still being daylight out, there was really no danger of being caught. On the other hand, Ian had already told him that the next step beyond kissing was “handsy”, as he put it, and when Ian had tried even sitting between Mickey’s legs, it had triggered him. He got up and went to his drawer, grabbing his prescription bottle and taking a pill with a glass of warm water that had been sitting there for who knows how long. He put the pills back and stood there for a second. There was no way to get over things unless he dealt with them. That’s what all of it was about. “Ian?” He called. He waited for a few seconds for Ian to walk up to his doorway, standing in the hall as if he felt he wasn’t welcome in Mickey’s room. It seemed like he’d reverted back to how he was before any of it had started- keeping his distance, making sure they didn’t so much as brush against each other in the hallway.

“What’s up?” Mickey took a breath.

“Can we keep going?” He asked. Ian stared at him and shook his head. Mickey felt his heart fall.

“Mickey, after your appointment-”

“I just had an appointment today and I feel okay. I feel like I want to keep going.”

“You were so bad, Mick.”

“Look, what happened in that appointment would’ve turned anyone into what I was after I found out, okay? And I went back today and we talked about it, and we went through more files and I’m still here, willing to keep going if you are.” Ian stared at him for a minute before nodding. Mickey walked up to him and boldly kissed him, walking backward so Ian entered his room. The redhead closed and locked the door behind him without breaking the kiss and Mickey backed into his bed, sitting down. Ian sat next to him and slowly reclined, forcing Mickey to turn on the bed and stand on his knees, leaning down to kiss him. He built up his courage and straddled Ian like he had before, lowering himself and fighting through the tremors that took over his body.

“Wait.” Ian mumbled, his mouth smothered by Mickey’s. “You’re shaking. Just chill for a minute.” Mickey didn’t want to protest. He sat on Ian silently, trying to make his body stop shaking. It took a couple minutes, but he relaxed and leaned down to kiss Ian again, this time a little slower. When he pulled back, Ian took a second longer to open his eyes.

“I want to try something else.” Ian stared up at him.

“What else?” Mickey shrugged.

“You’re the expert here, I just want to go further.” Ian looked away and sat up so he was face to face with Mickey.

“Don’t push yourself.” Ian warned. Mickey didn’t respond. He couldn’t, if he was trying to be honest. All he wanted to do was push himself. “Eyes open.” Ian reminded. Mickey nodded and Ian leaned in for a kiss, placing his hands on Mickey’s side. As the kiss progressed, Ian’s hand drifted down and Mickey kept his eyes open. Mickey seized up when Ian’s hand made it between his legs and Ian pulled back. Mickey leaned back, looking away, closing his eyes and breathing slow. “Mick?” Mickey looked at him and leaned down to kiss him. Once he felt like Ian was into it, he grabbed his friend’s wrist and directed it between his legs, fighting every urge to just shut down. “Mickey-” Ian turned his head and Mickey kissed down his jaw.

“Do it.” He grabbed Ian’s hand and pressed it against his own body with more force. “It’s fine.” He was shaking as Ian did what was asked of him, kissing him at the same time as he massaged him through his pants, until Mickey’s mouth stopped kissing back and he leaned his forehead against Ian’s temple and shoved his hand away, rolling off of him and covering his face with his hands, his whole body shaking as he cried into them. Ian sat up, not saying a word, just occasionally looking over at Mickey, who slowly calmed down. Once he was calmer and out of breath, he rolled onto his side, facing the door to his room, and pulled his legs up.

“Mickey?” Ian got no response, and he got off the bed and slowly knelt down so he was at eye level with Mickey, who was still crying with a blank look on his face. He didn’t look at Ian, he just stared off toward the wall. “Mick?” Ian cautiously reached up and slowly ran his fingers through Mickey’s hair. When he saw that Mickey had no negative reaction, he continued doing it, running his short nails across the brunet’s scalp, hoping it calmed him in some way. “Mick I’m not them. I’m not gonna fucking hurt you.” He assured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know you want to just be better, but it’s not gonna work if you rush it.”

“I feel fucking sick.” Mickey mumbled, chewing his fingernails.

“Because you’re supposed to? Don’t think about how you think you should feel, Mickey, you gotta focus on right now, alright? What you’re feeling right now. What are you feeling?”

“Scared.” Ian kept playing with his hair.

“Of me?” Mickey barely moved, but it was most definitely a no.

“Liking it. I shouldn’t.”

“You’re not scared of me.” Ian said. “So you need to remember that it’s me, Mick. It’s not your dad, or whatever pieces of fucking shit in those files at your shrink’s office. I’m me, and you’re safe with me, you know that. No matter how bad your head is fucking with you, you have to know that.” Mickey took his fingers out of his mouth, but kept them close to his face as he stared at Ian. The tight feeling in his chest slowly went away when he thought to himself that it was Ian, and there was absolutely no reason to be scared of him, or anything he did. Ian paid such close attention, that he knew to stop even before Mickey told him to. It was that moment, lying in his bed with Ian’s nails dragging slowly and soothingly over his head that he realized that Ian was more to him than he’d intended him to be. He was more than a lab rat, and more than Mandy’s best friend. He didn’t know what that really meant, but he knew that all he wanted was for Ian to get back on the bed and hold onto him. It made him feel weak and he hated it. He hated that he couldn’t ask for it, because that wasn’t what their situation was. It was “say it, I’ll do it.” It was experimentation and trial and error. It wasn’t supposed to be forehead touches and cuddling in bed.

“I wanna sleep.” Mickey said, hoping to get the thoughts out of his head. Ian nodded and rested a flat hand on the side of Mickey’s head.

“You want me to stay?” He asked, his voice once again so quiet that Mickey barely heard. Mickey wanted to say no and keep their arrangement what it was, but he nodded instead, and that was all it took for Ian to stand up. “Get some PJs on. You’ll sleep better than with jeans. I’ll be right back.” And with that, Ian left the room. Mickey weakly sat up, his face sore from being soaked with tears. He wiped his cheeks one more time before taking off his pants and pulling on a pair of plaid pajama pants he found lying on the floor. Ian knocked before he came in.

“Yeah?”

“You good?” Ian asked. Mickey didn’t understand why Ian was so careful not to see Mickey undressed, considering the things they did, but he appreciated it. He appreciated most things Ian did.

“Yeah.” The door opened and Mickey got back into bed, this time under the covers. Ian waited by the bedside for Mickey to get comfortable.

“You want me under or over the covers?” Mickey found the question ridiculous and lifted the blanket for Ian to get in. Once he was under the blanket, he settled close to the edge of his side of the bed and Mickey mustered up enough courage to grab Ian’s arm and tug on it. Taking the hint, Ian rolled onto his side and pulled Mickey against himself, where he buried his face in the redhead’s chest and closed his eyes, seeming to feel instantly more calm with Ian’s arms draped over him. “You’re gonna be fine, Mick.” Ian said quietly. Mickey kept his eyes closed. “You gotta believe that, alright? Don’t ever doubt it.” He began dragging his nails through Mickey’s hair again, lulling him into a deep, calm sleep, even though the sun was still up.

 


	12. Too Much Of Not Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone knows (if you're reading this), as the story progresses, the content will get worse and worse and I have to tell you I absolutely HATE writing what's described in the files. I'm not saying that in an "ew I have to use gross words" kind of way. I get visuals when I write, and those are things I don't ever want to think about. I will tell you right now that I worry every time I write one, that people will think I'm horrible for even coming up with the forms of abuse those kids went through. 
> 
> I need to explain that, while some of the scenarios are completely made up, and written after I try to imagine the ways someone could be extremely damaged by, many of the things mentioned in the files hit home. I was always told to write what I know, so that's what I'm trying to do. I'm not saying I've been through all the things mentioned in here. But I will say I can relate to some. Other scenarios were taken from real life, whether being told the pasts of the foster kids my family took in, friend's stories of their abuse, or things I've seen or read about in the news. I use whatever affects me to come up with the worst parts of this story and the last thing I want is for people to think I enjoy those parts in any way. As I said, I hate them. I have to stop writing sometimes and go do something to get things out of my head. I sit for so long and try to find ways of wording things so they won't be tactless or blatantly disrespectful to survivors of any kind of abuse, and it's very hard to do. It's hard using the words I have to use, and even harder when they're used to describe what happened to a child. There are 57 files describing the abuse the characters went through, and I'm going to be honest and tell you I don't have it in me to write that much horror, and I'm sure it would be too hard to read anyway.
> 
> Someone left a comment about how they couldn't imagine a therapist suggesting what he suggested in this story (and it's a completely rational way of thinking), but that's exactly what happened to me. I was told to do the exact thing described in this story. Granted, I never did it, nor did I go back to that therapist, but things like that do actually happen and I didn't want readers to assume I made up such an absurd form of therapy strictly to have a reason for the characters to be intimate with each other.
> 
> I wanted to say that since this story will obviously be getting more graphic, and the acts mentioned will be more disturbing, it will take me longer to post updates but this fic won't be abandoned. I have acts leading to an end that I'm excited about writing, I just gotta get through all the horrific abuse before I get there. Please please please don't give up on reading this because you think it may be left unfinished because it won't be. It's just gonna be really draining and depressing to write at times.

_"I've seen too much of not enough but  
You came much closer than they had before"_

-Silverchair "Too Much Of Not Enough"

 

Mickey woke up when he felt Ian’s body jerk.

“The fuck is this?” It was Iggy and Mickey kept his eyes closed, feeling somewhat guilty about leaving Ian to explain things himself.

“Shhhh. He’s sleeping.”

“With you spooning him?” Mickey tensed and he knew Ian felt it.

“He had a really bad panic attack and he almost stopped breathing so I told him to lay on his back and watch the ceiling fan to calm down. It didn’t work and he got up and grabbed me and started crying so I just hugged him and he eventually knocked out. I stayed. Chill the fuck out.” Ian was good and Mickey was impressed at how blunt he was with Iggy. That usually ended up with whoever was talking to walk away with at least one broken bone.

“You think he’s gonna be okay waking up with you holding onto him like that?”

“He didn’t have a problem falling asleep with me holding onto him like this. You want me to back off the next time he’s crying and neither of you are home? Just let him deal with it alone?” Iggy was quiet and Mickey remained tense, facing the wall. “Okay then back the fuck off.” Iggy still didn’t respond and Ian turned back toward Mickey, breathing harder in annoyance.

“I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“You’re fucking acting like one.” Ian retorted, not turning to him.

“I’ve known Mickey his whole life. You think I don’t know he’s gay?” Mickey almost sat up, but Ian grabbed his shirt and stopped him. “I’m not my fucking dad, alright? He would’ve killed Mickey if he knew but I don’t give a fuck. I know I’m a fucking asshole but not about them. Someone hurts them, “asshole” doesn’t describe what I turn into.” Ian let go of his shirt as Mickey relaxed. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. And I notice what he’s like when he knows you’re out there stripping down for old gross businessmen. He gets pissed.” Mickey felt his cheeks heat up. He wanted Iggy to stop talking. Now. He got his wish for about half a minute, and he started to wonder if Iggy had left before he spoke. “I don’t know what’s up with you two, but I’ll tell you this- I’ve done some seriously fucked up things to protect these two. Really bad shit, alright? If you hurt him, I will fucking kill you. We don’t exaggerate in this family. I will literally kill you, and it won’t be quick. He’s been through enough and for whatever reason, he trusts you. He loses that trust, you lose your life, clear?”

“Crystal.” Ian answered dully.

“Good. Don’t let Mandy find out. Pizza’s in the kitchen.” And with that, Mickey heard Iggy leave. He stayed still, humiliated by what Iggy had told Ian. He supposed that was a normal big brother thing to do, but he still didn’t want to face him. He waited for some smartass response from Ian, but instead the redhead slid his arm between Mickey’s arm and body, pulling himself closer, but keeping his bottom half away from Mickey’s ass. Mickey closed his eyes when he felt Ian lean his forehead against the back of his neck.

“You okay?” Mickey nodded, feeling guilty for liking this. He loved the feeling of being held by Ian. He loved how he smelled and how gentle and cautious he was. He loved the feeling of Ian’s skin touching his own. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d begun liking Ian more that the activities that they took part in, and that wasn’t part of the deal. The arrangement was strictly no strings attached, straightforward fooling around. It wasn’t spooning or getting jealous, like he did. His thoughts were cut off by Ian kissing the back of his neck. Mickey found himself leaning his head forward to give him more access and Ian began kissing to the side of his neck. “Roll over?” Ian asked, rather than demanded. Mickey complied and rolled onto his back without Ian stopping what he was doing. He lifted his chin as Ian began kissing and sucking on his throat, placing one hand on the other side of Mickey, but keeping both his legs to one side. Mickey got chills as Ian gently bit his neck and then kissed the same spot before stopping. “Pizza.” He reminded, getting up. Mickey followed as Ian peeked out the door before leaving.

“She ain’t here, you can do the walk of shame safely.” Iggy called from the kitchen. Ian left the room and walked toward Iggy, leaving Mickey shamefully hugging himself. When he made eye contact with his brother, he lost it.

“We didn’t do anything, Iggy, I swear.” He started going into a panic attack and Ian looked at Iggy.

“Give us a minute.” Iggy said,walking over to Mickey, who was breathing too fast. Ian nodded and walked back to Mandy’s room, closing the door. Iggy lead Mickey to the couch and they sat down. “Slow down, you’re gonna pass out.” Mickey stared ahead taking deep breaths and starting to calm down. He shook his head.

“We’re not together, it’s not what you think-”

“Don’t talk til you’re breathing.” Mickey nodded and closed his eyes. It took another minute for him to return to normal, but he still wouldn’t look at his brother. “You don’t gotta explain shit to me, Mick, you know that. You two coulda been slaughtering goats for Satan in there and I wouldn’t give a shit. It just seemed like him being there might make for a rough wake up, you know? I don’t care about anything that you do in your room, or who you do it with.”

“My therapist told me-” He chickened out, finding it hard to talk about it. He knew Iggy was staring at him so he took another breath and braved through it. “He said I should find someone to try things out with. Ian said he’d do it. We’ve been trying stuff and trying to get me more comfortable with certain things.” He waited for his brother to scoff and tell him it was either bullshit or a stupid fucking plan. He got neither.

“Is it helping?” Mickey looked at him in shock. He’d heard Iggy in the bedroom telling Ian that he knew he was gay, and that he didn’t care, but seeing and hearing his brother respond the way he was was still extremely shocking. All he could do was nod and hope Iggy didn’t ask questions. His older brother only nodded along. “What time’s your appointment tomorrow?”

“9.” He replied quietly.

“Ian!” Mickey jumped as his brother yelled. Ian walked quickly down the hall. “You free to take him tomorrow? Nine?” Ian nodded. “Alright. Grab pizza. Silent Hill’s coming on.” Iggy grabbed a couple slices and walked over to the living room.

“I told him.” Mickey said quietly so Iggy couldn’t hear, and Ian looked at him.

“What did he say?”

“It’s fucking starting!” Iggy yelled, his mouth full of pizza. Mickey grabbed his pizza and walked to the living room, Ian following close behind. The three of them sat down on the couch watching the movie until Ian fell asleep. Iggy kicked his foot off the table and he startled awake. “Go to bed.”

“Kay.” Ian got up and walked drowsily to Mandy’s room, shutting the door behind him. Mickey tensed up, scared Iggy was going to start questioning him about Ian, but the questions never came. All that came up between them was Mickey pointing out how unrealistic it was that someone’s skin could be ripped entirely off in one piece, which led to Mickey saying the entire movie was impossible, which lead to Iggy explaining how it could possibly happen. Mickey was laughing so hard, he could only hear Iggy tell him to hear him out, and something about time travel. Once Iggy was done explaining, Mickey was crying from laughing so hard.

“Don’t laugh at facts, Mickey.” Mickey shook his head. “It’s almost 1. Go get some rest.” Mickey wiped his eyes and calmed down for a minute before looking at his brother. “Can I ask you something?”

“Just did.” Mickey punched his arm.

“Why are you around so much lately? It’s like you live here.”

“You want me to leave?” Iggy asked, sounding genuinely hurt.

“No. It’s nice, I was just wondering.” Iggy nodded.

“I don’t want to go back to my place til you’re done with all this shit. You two are the only family I’ve got left and it feels like shit being at my place when you’re coming home hysterical and shit. I want to be here.” Mickey smiled and nodded. “I’m not gonna fucking hug you, this ain’t Full House, douchebag, go to bed.” Mickey laughed and got up, heading to his room to grab his toothbrush before heading to the bathroom to take a shower and get right back into his pajamas. He slept well that night and was woken up by Mandy gently squeezing his shoulder. He looked at her.

“It’s 8, Mick, you got therapy in an hour. Ian’s already dressed and I’m heading out. You gotta get up.” He nodded and sat up. “Call me if you need anything.” He nodded and rubbed his eyes as she left. He dressed himself in a clean pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. Walking down the hall to the kitchen, he saw that Ian was cleaning the dishes.

“Food’s on the table.” He said, smiling. Mickey feared what he might see when he looked over, but was actually impressed. All that was on the plate was a simple breakfast of eggs, toast, and bacon. He sat down and ate quietly. Ian didn’t speak, either. When the time came, they got into Mickey’s car and Mickey directed him where to go. “You want me to go in or stay here?”

“It’s gonna be a while. There’s magazines and coffee in there.” Ian shut the car off.

“Inside it is.” They walked into the builing where Mickey signed in and made his copay with a black card. Afterward, he sat next to Ian, who was looking around. “This place is nice.” Mickey looked around as well and nodded.

“Better fucking be they charge enough-”

“Mick?” They both looked toward the door and saw Clint holding a chart in his hands. Mickey stood up and walked over without a word, not noticing Clint’s one last look at Ian. “Who’s the escort?” Mickey sat on the couch and sunk down into it.

“Ian.” Clint raised his eyebrows.

“Good job.” Mickey could only put his head down and smile. Clint sat down and Mickey saw about ten folders stacked on the desk. “How was your night?”

“Bad.”

“All bad?” Mickey shook his head. “What was good?” Mickey hesitated and looked at him.

“Iggy knows. I had a panic attack with Ian and he slept in my bed with me. Iggy found us.”

“Is that why he didn’t bring you here?”

“No. He didn’t care. Ian fell asleep while we were all watching a movie and Iggy and I just had fun. Laughing at what we were watching. I don’t remember laughing that hard.” Clint was smiling.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” Mickey smiled and put his head down, digging at his cuticles nervously. “What was bad about it?” Mickey’s smile faded and he hesitated before clearing his throat.

“When I was with Ian, I kept wanting him to go further, but he didn’t seem to want to. He was scared I couldn’t handle it. I put his hand between my legs.”

“What happened then?” Mickey smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Couldn’t handle it. He was right. He’s always right.” Both of them were quiet for a minute.

“How do you feel about Ian, Mickey?” Mickey looked at him. “I know you trust him, and I know he’s helped you a lot with all of this, but is there anything there for you?” Mickey put his head down again, feeling a sting hit his eyes. He nodded slowly, not wanting to admit it. “What is it?” He shrugged and shook his head again.

“He’s... I know it’s an agreement, but the way he does things... He’s affectionate and I’ve never had that before. Yesterday after I had the panic attack, he just held onto me and it worked to calm me down. I fell right to sleep. I have Mandy and I have Iggy, but they can’t give me that without it being weird, you know? I don’t know if it’s got anything to do with Ian. Maybe it could be anyone, but I like it. I like all the cheesy, stupid bullshit he does.” Clint smiled.

“Have you told him that?”

“No, and I’m not going to.”

“Why?” Clint asked. Mickey straightened his posture.

“Why are there so many folders out?” Mickey asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from Ian. Clint understood and put his hand on one of the stacks.

“I was going through the folders again last night to make sure I didn’t expose you to something too damaging and these five-” He put his hand on one stack. “Are all one action being done several times. The same goes for this stack.” Again, he put his hand on it. “A different act than the other stack, but again, repeated five times. So we’ll pretty much cover ten folders today by reading two.” Mickey felt relieved to be able to get rid of so many. “You ready?” Mickey nodded and Clint took a file. “This one says you’re facing the camera blindfolded. A hand comes into the frame and the fingers are covered in chocolate syrup. The fingers wipe over your lips and you open your mouth. They tell you to suck until they’re clean and you do. The other files are the same thng, just different foods. One is whipped cream, one is frosting, each one something you’ll like so it’s easy to get you to do it.” Mickey nodded, though this one actually really disturbed him. “You okay?” Mickey shook his head.

“So I wanted it?” He asked. Clint sat forward.

“Mickey, there’s evidence that you were starved in order for them to get what they wanted from you. It’s extremely likely that that’s the case here. They probably withheld food from you so when they offer something- anything- you’re frantic about it. It’s not that you wanted their hands anywhere near you, you were a kid and kids like that kind of shit. They knew that and they used it in a horrible way. Got it? You didn’t want what they did to you.” Mickey nodded, breathing deep and slow to keep calm. “Tell me when you’re ready for the other ones.”

“I’m good.” Mickey said, staring at the ground, but Clint didn’t move. He lifted his head to look at his therapist.

“Tell me when you’re ready.” Clint repeated. Mickey nodded and put his head back down, counting in his head as he took more breaths to calm down.

“Okay.” He said after a couple minutes. Clint grabbed a folder from the next stack.

“This one is a little more disturbing. Are you sure you’re okay to go on?” Mickey nodded. “Okay. It has you in your underwear. They put you in a shower and put a lock on the door. They turn the hot water on and film you as the water gets hotter. It says you begin crying and screaming, pounding on the glass, but they don’t let you out until you seem to pass out, which is likely due to either the pain or the loss of breath from screaming. They take you out, it says your skin is extremely red, and they pan over your body, focusing on your underwear, which became somewhat see through after getting wet. They get you to wake up and that’s the end. The other folders have you either in hot showers, or baths of ice water.” Mickey stared at him. “Anything?” Mickey took a second to process it, shocked at how what he was being told related to how he acted today, even though he didn’t remember it.

“I can only take showers if there’s a curtain. I feel sick if there’s a door. Makes sense now, huh?” Clint nodded and took notes.

“There aren’t medical records for any of these, so there’s no telling how much physical damage there was done to you. The report when your brother took you to the hospital is in here, it lists your injuries at that time.” Mickey nodded. “What’s going through your head, Mick?” He continued staring at the ground, and waited a bit before answering.

“It doesn’t feel real, but it does.” He knew it made no sense, but hoped Clint knew enough to understand him.

“You’re hearing these things, and it’s like I’m just telling you about things that happened to some kid you don’t know, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But sometimes one of them will pop up and spark a memory, or explain why you are the way you are.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what this is all about. Understanding why you are the way you are. You ever wonder why you feel sick when a shower has a glass door instead of a curtain? Now you know, and it’s over. It’s never gonna happen again.” Mickey nodded.

“Can we do more? I wanna get these done.” Clint nodded and grabbed another stack. Clint opened the first one and read over it.

“You have problems with dogs?” Mickey’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, trying not to cry, “No, no, no, Mickey, it’s nothing like that. It just says here they tied a dog- a rottweiler- up just far enough so it couldn’t reach you and told it to attack, so it would lunge at you. It says here, it comes inches from your face and you’re restrained by a man who has you in his lap.”

“I don’t like dogs.” Mickey said, shaking his head. His breathing was still fast, as if he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Mickey-”

“I fucking hate them. I hate them. I can’t even stand seeing people walk them I have to get away from them.” He was crying now and Clint shut the folder.

“Okay, Mickey, we’re done for today.” Clint got up and walked over to the mini fridge he had, getting a bottle of water for Mickey, who shook as he opened it and took a drink. Clint sat next to him, keeping distance between them. It took Mickey a few minutes to calm down and he looked at Clint.

“How the fuck am I gonna handle the other shit?” Clint patted his shoulder.

“You’re just gonna handle it. It’s what you do, Mick.” Mickey smiled and raised his eyebrows.

“It’s what I do.” He repeated, standing up.

“Same time tomorrow?” Clint called as Mickey opened the door. Mickey only nodded, jerking his head to the door to tell Ian they were leaving. Mickey knew Ian could tell he’d been crying, but he didn’t say anything about it. He simply turned the radio on, switching stations whenever a song that was anything but happy came on. When they got home, Mickey walked through the door first, and a second after hearing the front door shut, He felt a tight grip on his wrist, which he instinctively fought against. It was no use though, and before he could register what was happening, Ian was hugging him tightly. It wasn’t constraining, it wasn’t threatening, it was just a tight hold that Mickey tried to avoid melting into, but couldn’t. He kept his arms at his sides and just let it happen. When Ian pulled away, Mickey kept his head down and walked straight to his room without a single word.


	13. I'm On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long break between chapters. I began writing some stuff and it was too much to handle, so I changed the course of the story a little to give it a little bit of positivity so we don't all fall into a depression and die reading this. I hope you guys like it. Thank you for being patient and sticking with this.

_"At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet_

_And a freight train running through the middle of my head  
_

_Only you can cool my desire_

_Oh, I'm on fire"_

_-Bruce Springsteen, "I'm On Fire"_

 

He woke up on Monday morning soaking wet and dreading every aspect of the day that was to come. On Friday, he decided he wanted to finish the files in the stack they’d been working on, so they did. It took over two hours, but they were done. It was only after that Mickey put much thought into the fact that once the tamer files were done, they were going to move on to more disturbing events. He tried hard to forget what he’d be facing that day, but his head obviously hadn’t stopped running. He got out of bed and stripped it, peeling his wet boxers off and tossing them into his dirty clothes basket. A knock on the door made him jump and cover himself.

“What?”

“We got work in an hour. It’s your first day.” Ian reminded. Mickey closed his eyes, regretting ever asking Ian to help him find a job.

“Okay gimme a minute.” He pulled on some dirty, but dry boxers, grabbed some clothes, including clean underwear, and walked down the hall toward the bathroom. It was a quick shower and he barely remembered even washing himself, but before he knew it, he’d dressed himself and brushed his teeth, not bothering to do much with his wet hair. When he emerged from the bathroom, he ran into Ian, who was on his way to Mandy’s room. They hadn’t spent time together since the day Mickey all but forced himself on the redhead and triggered his own panic attack. Ian was kind enough to make no mention of it, and, as usual, treated Mickey like he always did. Ian quickly approached Mickey, not even looking him in the eye and Mickey flinched as Ian reached over and fixed a part of his hair. He smiled and nodded.

“You’re good now. I gotta grab my wallet and we can go.” Mickey nodded and walked back to his room to pull some socks and shoes on. Five minutes later, they were in Ian’s car on their way to work. It was quiet at first, and Mickey tried to focus on the classic rock music that played so quietly he questioned whether he was even really hearing it at all. A few minutes of complete silence was all Mickey could take.

“Why does this place need security? You seem like you could take care of shit yourself.” Ian smiled and Mickey could’ve sworn he saw Ian’s bicep flex as he clenched the steering wheel.

“Yeah, we tried that. Kids started using decoys. One would steal shit right in front of me and as I go to handle it, his friends raid the place. Fucking embarrassing. You got that look though, so they’re not gonna fuck with you.” Mickey looked at him.

“What look?” Ian looked at him and smiled.

“This, like, intimidating look.” Mickey was confused and looked around, as if doing so would clear things up for him.

“I’m like five inches shorter than you.”

“Doesn’t matter. Why do you think I avoided talking to you for so long? You scared the shit out of me.” Mickey tried to think of anything he could have possibly done to scare Ian before they’d even talked to each other. “Don’t kill yourself trying to look way into it, Mick, you’ve got resting bitchface, that’s all.”

“Resting bi- What the fuck is that?” Ian smiled.

“When you’re just sitting there, you don’t look calm or content, you always look angry, or like you’re thinking too hard about something.” Mickey nodded.

“Well I usually am.” He looked out the window.

“I’m not insulting you, Mickey, I was just saying, you know?” Mickey looked at him. “I like your face.” Ian added, looking back at the road ahead. Mickey turned his head away, looking at the window, unable to fight off the small smile that came as he chewed on his nails.

When they got to where they were going, Mickey was somewhat surprised to see the place. It was just a rundown looking hole-in-the-wall liquor store. Ian turned down a narrow alley and parked his car in the back, making sure to manually lock all the doors before getting out. Mickey followed him back through the alley to the front of the store.

“You walk this alone at night?” Mickey asked.

“No I take the back door to my car. I just don’t feel like dealing with Linda right when I get here.”

“Linda is...”

“Owner. Her shitbag husband ran out on her and their kids, so she’s always extremely wound up.” Mickey nodded and walked through the front door, causing a small bell to ring.

“Thank. Fucking. God.” Mickey looked behind the counter as a guy who looked maybe five years younger than them gathered his things from behind the counter and got ready to leave. “New guy?”

“Security.” Ian clarified. Mickey looked away as he was looked up and down by the other employee.

“Good luck.” was all the guy said before darting out the door. Ian walked behind the counter and Mickey followed, having no clue what he was supposed to do.

“Alrighty, so, if someone comes in, this is where I’ll be. You, on the other hand, will be subtly keeping an eye on them, especially kids, to make sure they don’t pocket anything.”

“And if they do?”

“You hold them until the police come.” Mickey jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice as who he presumed to be Linda approached them. Mickey raised his eyebrows.

“Physically hold them? Like grab them?”

“Block them from leaving.” Ian clarified. “Don’t get yourself hurt. If it looks like they could take you in a fight, let them go, we call the cops and deal with it.” Linda looked at Ian.

“Are you running this place now?” She asked.

“Stolen Pringles aren’t worth getting stabbed over, Linda.” Mickey looked back and forth between the two of them.

“Stabbed?” He asked. Linda waved her hand and shook her head.

“One time. Just one time, a guy had a knife and Ian thinks everyone who walks in here has a weapon.”

“It’s better than assuming they don’t, alright? He’s gotta be safe while keeping this place safe.” Linda nodded.

“Im aware of that, Ian.”

“So he’s supposed to tackle beef jerky thieves?” Ian asked. Linda simply rolled her eyes and walked away, obviously frustrated with the whole situation. “Anyway, someone steals shit, just confront them, or tell me and I’ll do it if that makes you more comfortable.” Mickey nodded. “It doesn’t happen as often as she’s making it out, alright? We’re mostly just gonna be restocking shelves and shit to make the time pass by.” Mickey nodded and looked around. “Sit down if you want. I can show you how to ring people up.” Mickey took a seat and paid close attention as Ian explained how everything worked. It was weird. He’d never had a real job before, and he didn’t know how he really felt about it. A couple instances arose where he felt the need to walk out from behind the counter and check a customer out, with one of them turning out to have two cans of beer in his jacket pockets. Mickey had pointed him out and let Ian do the dirty work while Mickey used the knowledge Ian instilled in him to help another customer at the register. By the end of their five hour shift, Mickey had finally relaxed a little but was wound back up when he remembered his appointment that started in two hours. After Ian drove him home, Mickey walked to his room and put on his headphones, listening to the song Ian had given him to calm him down when he was having a hard time. It did nothing, and before he knew it, Iggy was knocking on his door to take him.

His mind spun on the way to the office, terrified of what he was going to hear. It was the first day of the second set of files, and they were going to be more damaging than the first. Once he got into the office, Clint welcomed him in before Iggy could even take a seat in the lobby. Once on the leather couch, Mickey couldn't stop his leg from bouncing. He stared down at his jagged fingernail, knowing it was too short to fuck with, but needing the sharp areas gone. He used his teeth to pull what was left of his nail until he tasted blood, then he pulled a little harder.

"Mickey-" He jumped and took his finger out of his mouth. "Who brought you here today?"

"Iggy." Clint nodded and straightened some papers on his desk.

"You know things get heavier from here on, right?" He asked. Mickey only nodded, looking back at his lap. Clint seemed to be stalling and Mickey wasn't sure if he appreciated it, or hated him for it. He wanted it over with but he didn't want to do it. "You started work today, right?" Mickey nodded, finally looking at him. "How was it?"

"Different. Good, I guess. Ian tackled a guy. That was kinda entertaining." Clint smiled.

“Think he’s got some pent up rage?" Mickey shrugged and went back to looking at his hands.

"How are things with Ian?" Mickey shook his head.

"Things... Aren't." Clint stared at him for a second.

"Why? Did you decide it's something you want to hold off on?" Mickey was quiet as he gathered up the balls to say what he wanted to say.

"I feel weird about him." Clint sat up straighter. "Not bad weird... I don't fucking know." Mickey sat back and closed his eyes.

"Falling harder than you thought you would?" Clint asked. Mickey didn't move or reply. "Mickey?"

"It's not right. Using him like I am. And I... It's not just experimenting for me. It's more... He's more and I can't just keep going like we are. I'm gonna meet up with him and end it." Clint nodded and wrote something down on the file in front of him.

"I understand. I'm sure he will, too." Mickey nodded and looked at the folders Clint had.

"How many?" He asked, knowing he didn't have to elaborate.

"Ten. Four of the same actions. Two of another. Four separate incidents with different abuse." Mickey tried to prepare himself as much as he could, wondering if he wanted to know what he wanted to know.

"What were the four?" He gripped the cushion next to his leg, squeezing it until it hurt his hand. Clint understood Mickey’s need to get it overwith and didn’t fight it. He picked up four files that had a rubber band holding them together. He removed it and opened one, scanning it before he spoke.

"Four different men, one in each video, are forcing you to perform oral sex on them. Your ages in the video are 8, 8, 11, and 12. In one of them, you throw up and you're beaten until you've been knocked out."

He felt nothing, and he stared at Clint as if he was waiting for the man to say something else, but he didn't. Thoughts raced through his head a million miles an hour and he tried to imagine it happening. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to clean his mouth out, though there was absolutely no physical trace of anything left. He wanted to cry, but he fought it, taking deep breaths and biting his lip as he leg bounced uncontrollably.

"Mandy?" He asked. Clint shook his head.

"She's not in any of the four. It's just you." Mickey nodded, feeling relieved, but not enough to feel better.

"I'm not gonna do this." He muttered, shaking his head and getting to his feet. Clint stood, but did nothing to stop him or try to convince him to stay. He merely opened the door and let him out, waving Iggy over as Mickey left through the front door.

"What the fuck?" Iggy asked, looking at Mickey, then back at Clint.

"We need to put a stop to these sessions. They're too much for him right now. I thought he'd be ready, and he was for the tamer files, but not these. He's gotta take a break. No more of these until I think he can handle it, alright? Tell him when he decides to come back, it won't be to talk about these. It'll be a normal session." Iggy nodded and left after his brother.

Neither of them spoke on the way home, and when Mickey barged through the front door, he bypassed his sister and Ian, making a bee line for the bathroom. He spent five minutes brushing his teeth and scrubbing his tongue and gums until they bled. He spit and stared at the pink foam, which got Mandy's attention.

"Jesus, Mick, stop." She shut the water off and grabbed Mickey's shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. He let it happen for a few seconds and squirmed out of her hold, walking to his room and shutting the door. He contemplated just staying in his clothes, but remembered that he’d worked in them so he stripped everything but his boxers off and pulled on a tank top before he got under the covers and closed his eyes. He stayed there the rest of the day, into the night. It was only after everyone had gone to sleep that he emerged to use the bathroom, and as Mickey's luck would have it, that was when Ian walked into the hall, smudged eyeliner and the smell of sweat all over him. It made Mickey's stomach turn. Neither of them said a word, but the look on Ian's face showed concern. Mickey took care of business and went back to his room to send a text.

_Lunch at Harry’s tomorrow? I'll buy._

He waited for a response.

_Yeah. You need me to come over?_

Again, the thought made him feel sick.

_I'm okay see you at noon._

He put his phone down and rolled onto his stomach, trying to clear his mind and having no luck. His brain ran until he exhausted himself and slipped off to sleep, only to wake up after a dreamless night soaking wet yet again. All he could do was curl up on his side and cry. It was too much. All of it was taking him over and he felt like he’d lost control. He managed to take deep breaths despite his panic, and calm his body down, though his head still ran at full speed. It was getting to the point that his attacks actually caused him to have headaches and at times they were unbearable. This was one of those times. Looking at his phone, he saw that it was already 10am, which meant he’d be seeing Ian soon and adding the stress of ending their arrangement to the pile of shit he already had going through his head. He slowly sat up, the pressure in his head making it harder than it should have been, and got out of bed, stripping himself and the mattress before grabbing dirty clothes from the floor and walking to the bathroom for a shower.

Usually, the hot water would soothe him, but it seemed like nothing was working, and he was starting to get scared that nothing ever would. He worried that there would always be a certain level of this stress and pain plaguing his body and he couldn’t stand to think of it. He closed his eyes and let the water run over the back of his neck, tilting his head forward. He really fucking hated morning showers. Everywhere the water didn’t touch was freezing cold and he tried his hardest to get as much of his body under the water as he could. After about ten minutes, he got sick of trying to stay warm and shut the water off, braving the cold rush of air that would hit him when he opened the curtains. Drying off as quickly as he could, he pulled his clothes on, which turned out to be a black pull over sweatshirt and blue jeans. He didn’t have it in him to fix his hair or brush his teeth, so he tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper with his wet sheets and grabbed his keys, heading out a bit early.

Not early enough, apparently, as he saw Ian already sitting at a table on the side patio area of the restaurant, looking around as if he was searching for something. He stopped when he saw Mickey, and gave him a small smile as he waved. Mickey didn’t hear a word of the enthusiastic barrage of words that came out of Ian’s mouth as he sat down with him. All he could focus on was his headache and the stress of knowing he was most likely about to hurt one of the three people that actually mattered to him. He worried about the outcome, and how awkward it would be at home. He wondered if he should even call it off- if it would just be easier to keep it going.

“I got you a hamburger.” He snapped out of it and looked at Ian. “Um... Avocado and thousand island, right?” When Mickey didn’t answer, Ian switched to damage control. “I just ordered, so if you don’t want it-”

“No, no it sounds great.” It did. It was like Ian had read his mind. He had trouble looking at him, though Ian tried hard to get some sort of eye contact out of him.

“I was looking at the menu and they have this sundae that’s meant to feed four people. You think we could take it down?” Mickey forced a smile.

“Yeah, I think we could.” He said quietly. Ian stared at him for a minute.

“You okay?” His tone lost all it’s enthusiasm. Mickey thought for a minute and smiled.

“Not right now, no.”

“Something happen?” Mickey hated it when people nagged him, but he was too focused to even notice that Ian was doing just that.

“Um-”

“Alright we have a turkey club sandwich, untoasted, with no mayo, extra bacon, extra avocado on the side with fries and a side of mashed potatoes.” The waitress unloaded Ian’s meal in front of him and Mickey almost laughed at how much he could eat while staying as thin as he was. “And a simple, normal avocado burger with a side of fries and no extravagant customizations for this precious angel over here.” She put Mickey’s plate in front of him and both he and Ian couldn’t help but laugh as she turned to Ian. “Now, I know you have Sprite, and it looks like you’re not in need of a refill right now, but would you like a drink?” She asked Mickey.

“No, I’m good with water, thanks.”

“Can I get a-” The waitress produced a knife before Ian could even finish what he was saying and he took it happily, cutting his sandwich in half and passing it to Mickey so he could do the same. “Thank you!” He said pleasantly as the older woman left. “She’s fuckin great. She’s getting such a huge tip.” He said, digging into his mashed potatoes. Mickey cut his burger and grabbed half of it, eating it a little faster than he normally would, seeing as how he hadn’t had breakfast, or dinner the night before. Neither of them spoke until they were both halfway done with their food and Ian looked up, noticing the look on Mickey’s face. “Eat too fast?” He asked. Mickey finally made eye contact with him and shook his head. “What’s up then?” There was no easy way about it. He just had to say what needed to be said.

"I can't do what I've been doing." He said, glancing up from the ketchup he’d been pushing around with a french fry.

"Which 'what'?" Ian asked, taking a bite of his sandwich. Mickey sat back and his hands went straight to his lap to fuck with his nails like he always did.

"Everything. The files and what we've been doing. I have to stop." A look of shock flashed on Ian's face before he could hide it, but Mickey managed to see it. "Ever since I've started all this, I've been worse. I'm not ready for what Clint does, or what we've been doing. I like it, I just... Need to stop." Ian nodded and sat back, crossing his arms. Mickey expected him to give a lecture, but Ian smiled. He actually smiled. "It's not a fucking joke, Ian. Don't-"

"I wanted to call it off. You beat me." He said. Mickey looked at him, not trying to hide his shock, but scared the pain was showing through. He knew it was hypocritical, but he didn’t want Ian to want it to end. He wanted Ian to like what they’d been doing, and to like being with him. The fact that he was so flippant about breaking it off hurt. It made him feel like none of it meant anything. It shouldn’t have, though. That was the arrangement. Just trying things out, that’s all it was. They weren’t together, they weren’t doing it just to do it. It was all for a reason, but it still hurt. He took a deep breath to keep calm, though his insides felt twisted.

"Find someone?" He asked, feeling like he wanted to rip his heart out and soothe it in order to make everything stop hurting.

"Hopefully." Ian nodded. "I'm not sure it's mutual, you know, but I won't know til I try." Mickey smiled and nodded, looking at his phone. Always the easy way out. He pushed a couple buttons to make some noise and exhaled loudly.

"Shit, I gotta go." He dug some money out of his pocket and stood up. "Um, see you at home?" Ian nodded.

"Might be late. I made dinner reservations in case things go well." Mickey nodded and tried his hardest to ignore the feeling of his chest tightening and the stinging in his eyes. Why it hurt so much, he didn't know. He'd thought it was just some crush, but crushes couldn’t have this affect. He felt sicker at the thought of falling deeper than he thought he had, and having to watch Ian walk away, being reminded every day when he saw him- and possibly his date- walking down the hall to Ian's room. He wouldn't be able to take it. He'd have to leave. He nodded again and started walking away. "You gonna let me ask you, or what?" Ian called, stopping Mickey dead in his tracks. He took a deep breath and blinked back the tears, turning to face Ian. He walked closer to the table.

"What?" Ian suddenly looked insecure- something Mickey hadn't ever seen.

"I um... I wanted to end it because I felt like I was taking advantage of you with what we were doing. It wasn't right for me to do what I was doing feeling the way I feel."

"How do you feel?" Mickey asked cautiously. Ian smiled and looked at him like he was dumb.

"I've been saving up for months in order to be able to pay for whatever you want at that restaurant in case you said yes. It's the nicest place I could find. They even charge for reservations." He said, smiling. Mickey sat back down.

"Months?" Mickey asked. Ian looked away. "You've felt like this for months?"

"Years, actually." Ian said quietly. Mickey was in shock. The pain didn't leave him, though he didn't know why, and the tears were building up again.

"You don't know me, Ian, you can’t-”

"I do." Ian cut him off. Mickey wiped his eyes before any tears could fall and shook his head.

"You know what happened, and you know what Mandy's told you. You don't know me, okay? I'm not okay. I'm not pleasant to be around. I'm not nice, alright? You don't-"

"Your real name's Mikhalo. You had it legally changed because that was what they called you when they filmed you. The reason you have money is because after Iggy told the cops, he found some of the guys involved and threatened them to get them to empty the accounts, so they did. Over the years, your dad invested money and charged ridiculous amounts for what he did to you, and for what he let other people do to you, but people paid, and once the guys Iggy talked to gave him the money, he killed them. He did it in a building that was going to be demolished the next day so nobody found out.” Mickey looked around to make sure nobody heard. “He put the money in a trust fund for you guys and worked three jobs to take care of you until you were 18 and could get the money and use it to get out on your own.” Mickey looked away and sat back.

"Mandy told you that."

"You had to share food with her when you were little. She never said it but I'm willing to bet you always gave her more. That's why you eat the smaller half of whatever you're eating first. It's why you stare at your food- you're trying to figure out the size difference." Mickey glanced down at the larger half of his burger sitting on his plate. "Your favorite color is dark green. Whenever you eat Frosted Mini Wheats, you crush them up first. You never buy different socks because you hate pairing them, so you throw them all in your drawer and grab whichever ones because they're all the same. You're scared of crickets and june bugs. You like watching those stupid TLC reality shows because it's guaranteed not to trigger you. You like butter flavored syrup more than maple. You check to make sure your shampoo and lotion hasn't been tested on animals. You have virtual bubble wrap on your phone to fuck with when you're nervous. You say you hate your birthday because you're scared someone would forget and it would kill you, but you like how much people care about you when they do acknowledge it. You want a matte black BMW. You can afford one, but you think they're too expensive so you drive a Honda. You want a snake but know you can't feed them because you like rats, too. You like classical music and you hate country." Ian stopped and stared at Mickey, who hadn't taken his eyes off him. Ian looked away, feeling embarrassed and worried he sounded like a stalker. Mickey wiped his eyes. Ian noticed the tears about halfway through what he was saying. "It's okay if you don't want to. I can get the money back, so don't worry about putting me out by saying no. I just don't want you thinking that you gave me a boner and now I wanna date you. That's not how it is."

Mickey didn't know what he was feeling. This was brand new to him and his head ran wild weighing pros and cons, wondering if Ian was fucking with him, if his siblings were in on it, if he even had anything in common with Ian, how jealous he got whenever Ian went to work, if he could handle that, if it would get serious, if Ian would get fed up with his issues, how humiliated he'd be if he wet the bed with Ian in it-

"You're thinking too much." Ian cut off his thoughts and forced him to pay attention. "I'm gonna go ahead and cancel the reservation and if you think of an answer later, maybe I can reschedule it if you want." Ian said.

"I don't-" Ian looked up from his phone. "I don't know how to do this, alright?" His voice was shaking and he was frustrated with life in general, overcome with anger, embarrassment, and joy all at once. "I don't know how to go on dates, or show affection, I don't even know how to act, Ian."

"You act like you have been. Like you." Mickey wiped his eyes and sniffed.

"And down the line when I still can't do anything with you? Months go by and all I can do is kiss you, what do you do?"

"Jerk off in the bathroom like I have been." He replied without skipping a beat. "Mickey I don't think you're getting this. None of anything we've done means shit to me. The fact that it helped you means something, yeah, but it wasn't a lovers situation. It was experimentation. That wasn't us together it was me teaching you. It had no romantic value. That's not what we would be. You've never had what I want to try to have with you." Mickey stared at him. "I promise you that I'm not gonna hate you or be mad or anything if you can't do it. If you're not ready for this, I completely understand and I'll do everything I can to go back to the way things were."

"You can't take all that shit back, Ian." Mickey said, looking away as he wiped his eyes a final time and sniffed. "Do you know how fucking terrifying all of this is?" Ian shook his head. "I mean... It was nothing. Just straight physical shit with nothing else, and then it wasn't." Ian stared at him. "And I don't know if it was you or just never experiencing it before, but I wanted the stupid gentle bullshit you did all the time. I don't want to sleep alone anymore. I like feeling close to someone, but what if it's not you?" He saw something in Ian's face fall. "What if it's just me being fucked up and deprived and wanting it, no matter who gives it to me?" Ian shrugged his shoulders.

"What if it's not?" Mickey had no response. He was stuck, but not in a way he was upset about. Ian made sense. He had nothing to lose by trying it, but no idea how to.

“What do I do?” He asked. Ian didn’t laugh and Mickey was grateful. He felt embarrassed and insecure enough.

“Go buy clothes for tonight. We have reservations for dinner.”


	14. Chandelier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a slight misunderstanding about the notes on my last chapter. I'm not turning this story into fluff, I promise. Every once in a while, it gets to be a little much continuously writing all the horrible things I write in this story, so I need to put something nice in every once in a while. I need to keep sane. As always, thank you for reading this. I'm sorry if it hurts you.

_"Sun is up, I'm a mess_   
_Gotta get out now, gotta run from this_   
_Here comes the shame, here comes the shame"_

-Sia "Chandelier

 

Mickey had never been on a date before. He’d never had someone to go on a date with before, either, yet there he was, sitting across from Ian, who acted like he belonged with all the rest of the well-off people in the restaurant. From the valet to the waiter, he charmed everyone he interacted with and it both impressed and intimidated Mickey. He felt like a fish out of water. He could easily afford places like this, but it was the people that scared him away. He felt like he was being stared at and judged, like people were wondering what a guy like him was doing with someone like Ian. At one point during the night, he was so tense that Ian found it necessary to use his feet to pull Mickey’s leg toward him under the table. He held it there, crossing his feet around Mickey’s calf. It grounded him, and Mickey appreciated it.

Despite all they’d been through and done, he sometimes found it hard to look Ian in the eye during their conversations, but for the most part, he managed. The most difficult part of the evening was loosening up, and he managed to toward the end. He found himself drowning out everything whenever Ian spoke to him, and the two of them made a game of guessing what was wrong with the people around them, whether it be affairs, past murders, political affiliations, family scandals, they ended up laughing so hard at times that they seemed to annoy everyone around them. Mickey had to leave to go to the bathroom after laughing so hard at Ian’s reaction to the portion sizes when their food came. His comments about his calorie intake and the amount he burned by simply lifting a fork had Mickey in tears and the two of them decided to skip the overpriced dessert in favor of sitting on a curb outside a Rite-Aid, eating triple scoop ice cream cones. Neither of them spoke until they were done and in the car, where Mickey relaxed against the seat and glanced at Ian, unable to keep his smile to himself. When Ian asked him if he’d had fun, all Mickey could do was nod before they headed home.

After parking the car, the two of them began the walk to their apartment, with Mickey timidly grabbing Ian’s hand and holding it until right before they got to the door. They walked into the apartment, with Ian trailing behind Mickey, and walked into a cloud of smoke as Mandy threw a bag of burnt popcorn into the sink and ran water over it. Iggy, who sat on the couch, watched without offering to help, laughing at her.

"Where the fuck did you run off to?" She asked, tossing the soggy bag into the trash.

"Dinner." Mickey replied, taking a step toward Iggy. He sat next to him and his older brother leaned over.

"Where the fuck did you go?" He muttered quietly enough so Mandy couldn't hear.

"On a date." Mickey replied, not looking at him as he snorted, trying not to laugh. "He's fucking persuasive alright?" Iggy nodded, sitting up straight again just in time to see Ian break the news to Mandy.

"I'm going out with Mickey." He informed, his voice full of unwaivering confidence. Iggy and Mickey stared in tense silence, neither of them moving a muscle.

"Where you guys going? Maybe I'll tag along and get the fuck out of this apartment for a while." Iggy could barely contain his amusement.

“This is fucking amazing." He muttered, earning an irritated glance from Mickey.

"We just went out to dinner." Ian clarified. Mandy hustled around, cleaning her mess and grabbing a new bag of popcorn.

"Ooo where? I'm sick of takeout, maybe I can go next time." She threw the bag in the microwave and pushed a couple buttons.

"They went on a date, you dense bitch." Iggy shot at her, causing her to freeze for a second and stand up straight, eyeing her brother and her friend, who took a cautious step back.

"Excuse me?" Her voice had lost it’s friendly pitch and she got that homicidal look in her eye that usually made people back down immediately. Apparently, Ian hadn’t gotten the memo.

"A date? Dinner, food, small talk, eventual fucking? Well in their case, eventual movie watching, or comic book reading or whatever the fuck it is they do to get worked up." Iggy said. Mickey closed his eyes and shook his head. Mandy continued to look at Ian, then at Mickey, then back again.

"So after all this time you two decide maybe you might want to just pair up and fuck around?" She asked. Ian looked at Mickey, who shrugged, and then at Mandy, shrugging as Mickey had done and nodded.

"Kinda, yeah." Iggy sat, looking as gleeful as a kid on Christmas morning, eagerly looking at each of the three of them, waiting for some sort of exciting blowout. Mickey could feel his brother's leg bouncing in anticipation. Mandy stared at Ian, who stared right back. It was a ballsy move. Even Iggy knew that a stare down with Mandy usually ended with some part of your face bleeding. She was like a wolf establishing dominance. Looking at her brother, she lost the stare-off.

"I knew you had a fucking crush on him, Ian, but I never in a million years thought this would happen." She said, waving her arm in Mickey's general direction as he lifted his head and tried to hide the red that came to his face.

"You knew?" Ian asked, genuinely shocked. Mandy looked back at him like he was the stupidest person she'd ever met.

"Helen fucking Keller knew, Ian, Jesus." Iggy was still smiling when she looked at him. "You fucking knew?" She asked angrily, taking a step toward him. He stood up, immediately going into defense mode.

"I've only known for a few days!" He said, his hands in front of himself.

"You told him before me?" She turned to Mickey, who shook his head, taking Iggy's lead and standing to back up.

"I didn't-"

"He caught us in bed." Ian said from behind her. Both Iggy and Mickey shook their heads as Mandy's face went red and she turned to Ian.

"What?"

"We were-"

"They were just sleeping, _Amanda_ , chill the fuck out." Iggy said, cutting Mickey off and making it a point to call her by her full name. She turned her attention to Iggy and then the floor, rubbing her temples with her index and middle fingers as she closed her eyes.

"You leave my room... You crawl over me in the middle of the night, waking me up, so you can galavant down the hall to diddle my brother?" She asked, squinting her eyes at Ian.

"Hey, I never even once diddled him! Mickey?" He called for backup. Mickey shook his head.

"We’ve never diddled." He said, shaking his head. Nobody spoke. They stood in a broken group, each waiting for the next outburst.

"Alright." Mandy finally sighed. "Fine. It's fine. I'm okay with it, but I swear to god if I'm the third wheel EVER, I will shit on everything you love." She threatened. She turned and dug her finger into Ian's chest so hard it hurt. "You do anything- _a-ny-thing_ \- to hurt him, Ian, I will go to the hardware store, and I will buy the strongest glue they have, and their roughest sandpaper, and I will stick it to my hand, and give you the most vigorous handjob anyone has ever experienced. Do you understand me?" Ian cringed.

"Why do you always go for the dick when passing out threats?" Mandy slapped his chest hard a couple times.

"Cause you got a lot to lose in that department, Ian." Iggy choked on his beer and Mickey closed his eyes in frustration and embarrassment. Iggy looked at him expectantly.

"I haven't even seen it don't look at me." Mickey said, shaking his head. Ian seemed to glow as he walked to the hall. Mickey kept his head down as he passed Mandy, who shoved his shoulder as he passed.

"Always fucking stealing my shit. Fucking find your own, next time, asshole.” He smiled to himself and followed Ian, who pointed at Mickey’s room while raising his eyebrows, getting a nod in return. Ian went in and Mickey followed after making sure Mandy wasn’t watching. Once he closed his door, he turned around and looked at Ian, who stood there, not making any move to initiate anything.

“That went well.” Ian said. Mickey shook his head and laughed to himself. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, I had fun.”

“You just saying that cause I’m broke now?” Mickey shook his head.

“No, I had fun.” Ian nodded and fell silent, letting a bit of an awkward vibe take over. Mickey walked over to his bed and sat down to take his shoes off. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and looked at Ian as he turned to face him. “So they both know.” Ian nodded. “You want to stay?” He asked, his nerves going crazy again once he asked. Ian smiled and sat down to take his shoes off.

"Yeah, I'll stay." Mickey smiled and kicked his shoes off. "Taking a shower, though." Ian got up and left the room, leaving Mickey smiling as he listened to the sounds of Mandy slapping Ian around in the hall.

"It's not even about rent, is it? You just wanted to live here so you could shower with him, huh?" He heard Ian laugh and then a loud thump against the wall.

"Ow, fuck, no! I'm fucking poor, you know that-"

"That why you two are all dressed up? For the fuckin' dollar menu at Wendy's?" Another shove against the wall and Ian laughed again, then there were more slaps, probably against Ian's head.

"I saved up! Ow! I fuckin' saved money, you bitch, Jesus Christ! You want me to take him to Wendy's? I'll fuckin'- Ow!" Mickey laughed to himself as the sound of the two of them running into walls got louder. "I'll fuckin' take him to Wendy's! I'll even pay for the large Frosty- none of that value price shit- don't fucking bite m- Ah! Fuck!" There was silence for a few seconds.

"You okay?" Mandy asked, sounding concerned.

"Yeah, you didn't break the skin."

"Okay, good." There was another loud bang.

"Ow!"

"Keep shit from me again, Ian. See what happens." Mandy threatened.

"He kept it from you, too! God damn!"

"He's my brother and I love him."

"You love me, too!" Ian protested.

"Yeah but you don't hit back." Mickey heard the sound of Ian being shoved against the wall again before his door cracked open and Mandy peeked her head in. "Night." She said. Mickey nodded, trying not to laugh.

"Night." She shut the door and Mickey heard the water start in the bathroom down the hall. He sat there, going over the night and how much fun he’d had. He was still on a high from it all and felt like a weight had been lifted, now that both of his siblings knew what was going on. Standing up, he took his jacket off and kicked off his shoes, walking to his dresser to get clean boxers to wear after he took a shower. When he opened the drawer, his eyes fell on the prescription he’d gotten from Clint. He froze as his mind ran around in circles, trying to remember if the pills did any good to soothe his anxiety the last time he took them. If they did, it wasn’t a significant enough change to be memorable, so he almost gave up any thought of taking them until he heard Ian curse after dropping something in the shower. He thought about the night ahead of him, and wondered if anything would progress. He wondered what might happen, and how he would feel about it, and he found himself hoping that something would happen, and that he could handle it. He wondered if he held the key to being able to handle it in his hand and weighed the pros and cons of the pills. When he found that the only downside would be the pills not working, he decided to double the dose listed on the label and sat down on his bed, waiting for Ian to finish with his shower.

Once the bathroom was free and Mickey stepped in, he stripped down and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d seen Ian with his shirt off and knew, being a dancer, he had to be in good shape. Up until this point in his life, Mickey never really cared much about being in shape or being pale, but when he looked at himself in the mirror, he felt a little nervous. His thoughts whirled around by the time he was in the shower, and his body wasn’t his main focus. Whether or not Ian was his boyfriend became the new topic of inner monologue, and he zoned out while washing his hair, and his face, and every other square inch of his body- just in case. By the time he was done, he felt a little more at ease than he did before he took a shower. He pulled on his pajama pants and a t-shirt, then headed to his room, where Ian was lying on the bed reading a book from Mickey’s shelf.

“You like poetry?” Ian asked, not looking away from the book. Mickey tossed his clothes into the closet and looked over Ian’s sprawled out body.

“Not really, I just figured I should own it so people think I’m smarter.” Ian smiled at him and looked back at the book.

“‘When all thing charm me I ignore which one alone brings most delight.’” He read dramatically. He looked at Mickey, who smiled and shook his head. “‘She shines before me like the dawn-’” Ian continued, looking at Mickey.

“‘And she consoles me like the night.’” He finished quietly. Ian slammed the book shut, making Mickey jump in shock, and pointed at him.

“Fuckin’ knew it. You’re a hopeless romantic bookworm poetry loving nerd.” Mickey grabbed the book from Ian’s hand and walked back to his shelf, where he placed it in the empty spot it came from. He turned back to Ian, smiling. “You took my book, Mickey, what am I supposed to do now?” He spoke low and his voice lacked any hint of seduction. It was as if he was asking an honest question he required an answer to. Mickey looked at his door and saw that it was locked, though he didn’t remember doing it. The thought entered his mind to turn off the lights and just go for it, but he could never do that. He lacked the kind of confidence it took to make such a move, yet he found himself doing just that, and before he knew it, he was leaning down in the dark, kissing Ian as the redhead sat on his bed, keeping his hands to himself. It felt good, and Mickey straddled Ian’s lap, not breaking their kiss, and grabbed him by the shoulders, turning over onto his back and pulling Ian on top of him. Ian didn’t question it, and he shouldn’t have. He knew that Mickey would tell him whenever there was even a slight hint of discomfort.

For Mickey, the panic was still there. That's what he noticed as Ian kissed down his jaw and sucked on his neck, biting him gently. He still felt it, but it was different. It wasn't paralyzing, it was more like he was standing on the edge of a cliff on a windy day and he could fall at any moment. He wondered if it would stay that way, no matter what they did, or if the second they went further, he'd freak out like he always did. He let his hands fall off Ian's shoulders and trace his sides as he parted his legs. The second Ian fell between them, their bodies making full contact, he stopped and lifted his head, keeping his body perfectly still. Mickey didn't look at him. He focused on the ceiling, his breathing, and the far off panic he could still sense, while Ian remained quiet and searched Mickey's face for any sign that he should get off the bed. Mickey lifted his leg and slowly wrapped it around Ian's thighs. He finally looked at Ian before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

"Can you do something for me?" Ian nodded. "Unless I say stop, don't." Ian propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at him. "I feel okay. Right now I feel okay and I want it."

"You can't always say stop, Mick."

"If I'm coherent and I don't say stop, don't." Ian hesitated, but nodded. He leaned down and kissed Mickey slowly.

"What do you want me to do?" He kissed him again and Mickey felt heat rush over his face. It wasn't fear or panic, it was embarrassment, as he hadn't even thought that far ahead.

"I don't know." His voice was shaking and Ian propped himself up again. "I'm okay."

"I know you are." Ian's hand left it's place on Mickey's hip and slowly moved down as the two of them stared at each other. “This okay?" He asked. Mickey nodded without hesitation, not wanting to think too much and ruin everything. Ian lifted his hips to give his hand room to cup Mickey through his pajamas. He froze there, and Mickey's breathing quickened it's pace as his nerves went haywire. The embarrassment and shyness were taking over, rather than the panic, and his body flinched, shocked, when Ian's hand began tracing him through his pants. The redhead maintained eye contact the entire time and though it was difficult, Mickey did the same. He knew he had to get over the fact that Ian could feel how turned on he was. There was no hiding it, and he had to remind himself that it was what everything usually lead to when normal people got together and messed around. They move forward, and this was forward.

Ian took hold of as much of Mickey's cock as he could through the fabric and leaned down to kiss him as he ran his fingers from the base, to the tip. The sensation was so foreign that Mickey didn't think he could handle it. The embarrassment of getting off so quickly made him flush even more and Ian let go of him and lift himself again. Mickey watched him spit into his hand and slide it into Mickey's pants. There was no hesitation or warning. The usual "are you sure?" didn't come and Mickey gasped in shock when Ian grabbed his cock gently. He watched Mickey's face as his hand moved slowly, coating his cock with spit. Once Ian's hand reached the head, it stayed there, going over it a few more times before sliding his hand back down, where the tips of his fingers pushed down on his balls before grasping the base of his cock again and squeezing tighter as his hand headed faster toward the head again. It was an overwhelming rush. Ian’s techniques were more thorough than anything Mickey ever did to himself, and the fact that he’d never willingly been naked in front of anyone before made the fact that Ian was jerking him off that much more intense.

He had no time to focus on the panic. There was no room in his head between staring at Ian's face and feeling what it was like to have someone else pleasure him like he'd done so many times by himself in the shower, but the panic came, and his breathing quickened again as tears welled up in his eyes, mostly from frustration. He didn't know he was actually crying until Ian wiped his cheek with his free hand and kissed under his eye, leaning their foreheads together. He lost focus on Ian's hand and zoned in on his eyes. He concentrated on the sound of his breathing, and his smell. He reminded himself of the situation he was in, and everything Clint had told him about why it was different when he wanted it- and he wanted it. He repeated it over and over in his head until he heard Ian's voice telling him it was okay. He hadn't even meant to speak the words out loud, but it was amazing how little control he had with a hand down his pants while he was fighting off a panic attack. He focused again on Ian's hand, and how his motions were causing Mickey's legs to tense, and shake, and his hips to lift as if his body was taking over despite the war going on in his head. He let himself feel it and breathed deep to calm himself despite the urge he had to hold his breath.

Ian lifted his head and propped himself up. His hand was moving fast now and Mickey had no idea what he would do if Ian stopped. He couldn't stop. Every few strokes, he would give Mickey's cock one long, slow pull before speeding up again and it made Mickey's head spin. It brought his orgasm faster and when he felt it building up, he lost focus again, feeling instead the nauseous guilt taking over. He remembered what Clint had read to him. How they wouldn't stop until he liked it. He felt his eyes get wet again and opened them abruptly when Ian grabbed him by the chin. He stared up at him as he shook his head.

"Look at me. You were doing fine when you were looking at me just block it out." Mickey took a breath and nodded, blinking and forcing more tears out, which Ian wiped away. He leaned down and kissed Mickey, then his jaw down to his throat and moved his hand faster, twisting his wrist slightly every time he reached the head. Mickey couldn't stop the moan from escaping and he felt Ian's mouth curve into a smile against his throat. He gripped the comforter with one hand and the hair on the back of Ian's head with the other as his orgasm approached. All it took was Ian dragging his teeth under his jaw for him to gasp and tense as it took over his entire body. If he'd been coherent he would've appreciated just how well Ian's hand worked him through it, but there was nothing in him to focus on anything. Waves of pleasure much stronger than any he'd given himself shot through his body as he lifted his hips off the bed and stifled a moan. It seemed to last forever but when he came to, he felt Ian's hand still in his pants, moving slow, giving him aftershocks that caused his body to twitch and him to bury his face in Ian's hair. When it became too much, he reached down and grabbed Ian's wrist gently, stopping him. Ian rested his hand on Mickey's hip, still in his pants, and continued kissing his neck.

He couldn’t move. The nauseous feeling that threatened him only moments before returned and he closed his eyes. He focused on the smell of Ian’s hair, then remembered how little control he had over himself when Ian was touching him. He felt like he couldn’t say no, even if he wanted to. He felt Ian’s wet hand gripping his hip and tried to remember anything from the moment he came. Any sounds, Ian’s face, anything, but there was nothing there. His mind had gone blank for the few seconds it took, and it terrified him, reminding him of the blank spaces in his memory that he was currently working on. He could hardly breathe and he found himself crying for the third time.

Ian continued to kiss his neck, no doubt leaving marks, but all Mickey could feel was invasiveness. Someone too close, touching him when he felt sick and vulnerable. He lifted his arms, which felt as if they were ten times heavier than they were supposed to be, and, shaking, he grabbed Ian’s shoulders. His first attempt to speak produced nothing but a choking moan and Ian squeezed his hip tighter, continuing to kiss him. He turned his head away, trying to lean farther from him and let out a weak, childish sounding sob as he hit Ian’s shoulders with the little amount of strength he had. Ian jumped up as if he’d been burned and before he even knew what was happening, he put space between him and Mickey, but it was too late.

There was no controlling it anymore. There were no breathing exercises that could calm him, nor was there any part of him that would be able to focus on anything to ground himself. His shaky hands remained above him where Ian’s shoulders had been and he let out a cry with every exhale as his breathing got faster. Tears streamed from his eyes, not even seeming to come in drops, just a steady trail down the sides of his face, and his frequent cries turned into hysterical sobbing. It was loud, and the sound of it sent Ian into a panic.

“Mickey? Mickey look at me! Fuck.” He wiped his hand on his pants and jumped off the bed, running to the door. “Mandy! Iggy!” He yelled. By the time the two of them made it to the room, Mickey’s crying had become so hysterical and loud that they almost needed to cover their ears. His face was red and it didn’t even seem like he had any opportunity to breathe.

“What the fuck did you do?!” Iggy yelled, roughly shoving Ian into the wall before going to Mickey. He grabbed his face and promptly got punched in the mouth as Mickey lashed out and sent him to the floor. Mandy didn’t acknowledge either Iggy, who was bleeding by the bed, or Ian, who stood against the wall, covering his mouth and shaking from the sight and sound of it. She knelt down, as Iggy had, and put her hand on Mickey’s forehead. His eyes were closed and he’d brought his hands to his face, muffling the sound of his screaming.

“Mickey. Mickey, listen. It’s me. It’s Mandy, okay? It’s just me.” She waved for Ian and Iggy to leave and they did, closing the door behind them. She heard the muffled sounds of her older brother yelling at her best friend, and Ian yelling back. There were some loud thumps and something glass breaking, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She pushed the hair off of Mickey’s forehead, noticing that his entire face was hot and red. “Nobody’s here. You’re okay. Whatever happened is done and nobody’s here. It’s just us.” She kept her voice from cracking as she, too, began crying. His sobbing got quieter but he kept his face covered and she let him. “It’s just us.” She repeated, running her fingers through his hair. He brought his hands down so they were covering his nose and mouth when his crying turned into tired moans. His eyes struggled to stay open and Mandy made sure he saw her. “You’re okay. You can hear me, right? Let me know you can hear me, Mickey, please?” He hesitated, but his nod was so subtle that she would’ve missed it if she wasn’t paying such close attention. She wiped her eyes. “Can I stay here?” She asked. He stared at her, still shaking and red, his face and pillow soaked from his tears. The blue in his eyes stood out even more since the crying had made the whites of his eyes bloodshot, and he nodded again. “Okay.” She stared at him and he stared right back, neither of them saying anything, but silently comforting each other. Another fifteen minutes passed and Mandy had her hand on the side of Mickey’s neck with her head resting on the mattress. Her fingers lazily curled around his hair and he never took his eyes off her. Kneeling on the floor had made her feet fall asleep, but she knew she couldn’t move until he let her. When he finally did, he simply backed up, keeping his back to the wall, and made room for her. She didn’t say a word as she got up and slipped under the blanket that he rested on top of. “You want to go to sleep?” She asked. He nodded, chewing on his fingertips and she sat up, helping him shove the blankets down from under him and pull them back up to cover him. They each rested on their sides facing each other, Mickey finally calm because he knew if his sister was there, he was okay, and Mandy calm because Mickey was. It only took a few minutes for Mickey to fall asleep and Mandy slipped under shortly after, spending just a little more time staring at her older brother’s face, and crying because there was nothing she could do for him.


	15. Whataya Want From Me

_"Just don't give up_   
_I'm workin' it out_   
_Please don't give in_   
_I won't let you down_   
_It messed me up, need a second to breathe_   
_Just keep coming around"_

_-Adam Lambert "Whataya Want From Me?"_

 

He woke up way too soon. In reality, he had no idea how long he had slept, but his head throbbed and his eyes felt like they were close to being swollen shut. The stinging under them was no doubt caused by all the crying he would’ve rather forgotten about. He was groggy at best when he looked up and saw his sister shaking his shoulder. She looked almost as bad as he felt, her makeup smeared like it always was when she slept in it, and her hair was regaining it’s natural frizzy texture it got when she didn’t wake up in time to put product in it.

“Up.” She mumbled, getting out of his bed. That was when he felt it. He’d gotten to the point of just accepting that whenever he had a breakdown, even if he calmed down before he went to sleep, he was going to piss the bed. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and sat up slowly to avoid making his head throb any harder.

“I’m sor-”

“It’s fine. Didn’t get me, don’t worry. Let me-”

“I got it. Go to bed.” She nodded and leaned over, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him in for a hug.

“Love you.” He closed his eyes and nodded.

“You too. Night.” She kissed his hair and he watched her walk out before he crawled off his bed and swayed upon getting to his feet. He instantly felt pressure in his head and closed his eyes to give himself a minute for it to pass. Whether it was the pills he’d taken, or the attack he’d had, he wasn’t sure, but he felt like absolute shit and stripping his bed was the last thing he wanted to do. He looked down at his pants and realized they, too, had to go and he pushed them down, kicking them toward his pile of dirty laundry. Stumbling toward his bed, he grabbed the corner of his fitted sheet and pulled it off the mattress, along with the comforter he’d decided to take a chance with. Once his bed was stripped, he checked his closet for another blanket and found one on the shelf above his clothes. He pulled it down and wrapped himself in it rather than putting any clothes on before he slowly crawled back onto his bed, falling back to sleep almost instantly.

The sounds of people talking from the kitchen woke up up for good a few hours later and he remained wrapped in the blanket, staring at his door for a bit, trying to hear words in the mumbled noises. He could make out Iggy and Mandy talking, but couldn’t understand them. There was no third voice, and that fact made Mickey want to stay in bed for the rest of the day. He knew he couldn’t, though. Even he could smell his dirty laundry so he could only imagine what anyone else would think if they walked in. He forced himself out of bed, leaving his blanket on the stripped mattress and went to his dresser to pull on some clean underwear and a tank top. He couldn’t make himself care about getting fully dressed when all he was going to do was laundry, so he went straight to his closet and began shoving as much as he could in a basket. After grabbing some quarters, and taking the laundry soap out of the hall closet, he walked by his siblings and out the door, ignoring both of them as they tried to talk to him. The walk down the stairs and down some twisted walkways to the laundry room seemed longer than it usually did and he was paranoid that either Iggy or Mandy was walking behind him, which led to him looking over his shoulders several times. He didn’t even want to know what the neighbors thought if they saw how antsy he looked, but he made it to the laundry room without anyone talking to him and he walked straight to back, putting his basket down and dumping his quarters on top of the washer next to the one he was going to use.

It was only a matter of minutes before he heard the door to the open, but he continued unraveling his sheets and shoving them in the biggest washing machine they had. He didn't want to talk to anyone. In his opinion, the worst part of having panic attacks was the aftermath- everyone walking on eggshells around you, asking if you're okay, wanting to talk about whatever embarrassingly insignificant action caused you to go so far over the edge. He fucking hated it. His anxiety over whatever conversation was to come, along with the soreness under his eyes caused him to be a lot more irritable than he'd normally be, and he hoped for whoever just walked in's sake that they didn't want to have a lengthy conversation.

"Gonna pretend I'm not here?" Iggy asked. Mickey nodded and pulled a pair of boxers out of some jeans and shoved them both in, grabbing another sheet after. "Ian and I are cool. We both got some hits in and then talked." Mickey nodded again, hoping Ian hadn't given any details about what had happened. He'd always felt embarrassed about himself and his non-existent sex life when it came to Iggy, who seemed to have no trouble in that department. "He didn't tell me what caused it, but he said you told him to-" Mickey turned to Iggy, trying to control his urge to yell. If he yelled, he'd cry, and if that happened, it would further humiliate him, and hurt his face.

"I don't want to talk about it." He said simply. Iggy stared at him.

"You kinda have to-"

"I don't have to do anything." He said angrily, keeping his voice low and cutting Iggy off. The threatening tone that came out shocked even him. "I'm so fucking sick of people telling me what I have to do, or what I should do, it's my fucking life if I'm gonna fuck everything up, just fucking let me, alright?"

"Just let you?" Iggy asked, nodding with a fake smile on his face. Mickey’s attempt to keep calm flew out the window when he saw the smile on Iggy’s face. He knew his brother didn’t mean anything by it, but it didn’t matter.

"Don't fucking do that. This isn't some fucking little argument where you get to be sarcastic and rephrase whatever I say to make it sound like I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. I'm not stupid. Despite what happens when I flip out, or how much I cry and scream, I'm not fucking five years old. Being my brother- and Mandy being my sister doesn't give either of you the right to make decisions for me or meddle til I give in and agree with you."

"And Ian?"

"Ian does what I tell him to do, when I tell him to do it, so whatever happens with him, and however I react to anything he does is on me, not him."

"He should know-"

"He doesn't!" Mickey yelled, finally snapping. Iggy jumped at the sudden outburst, but Mickey didn’t stop. "That's the difference between him and you. Neither of you fucking know, and only one of you acts like you do! Nobody fucking gets it, Iggy! No matter what you see me go through or how vivid my descriptions of what I'm feeling are, you will never get it. You'll listen, and you'll care, and hurt, and empathize, I understand that, but you'll walk away without ever fucking knowing what this is like. You’ll never know what it’s like to be desperate like I have or be willing to go through what I went through last night just to fucking feel something good for once. And then I wake up- as if what happened wasn't enough- I fucking wake up soaked in my own piss- again- and have to face every fucking one of you. And that's another thing you'll never understand. What it's like to be punished with shit like last night for finally feeling something good and normal. Saying it isn't fair doesn't cut it anymore. It's fucking ruining me and I'd be lying if I said that the thought of putting a fucking bullet in my head and finally fucking ending all this didn't cross my mind more than it should." He was shaking now, but no tears came. He supposed he’d actually cried himself out. Iggy stood, trying to hide his shock and wondering how to even respond to what was said. A part of Mickey felt bad when he looked at his brother's face. Seeing anyone he cared about upset softened him, and this was no exception. "I love you, okay? I fucking love you and Mandy more than anything. I owe everything I've ever had and more to you, and I'll listen to what you have to say but you have to understand how fucking bad this gets, and you have to know that I have control over who does what to me, and I know that. So if I do something, and shit like last night happens, you can't do this big brother thing and attack whoever caused it. Everyone keeps telling me that it's all over and it's not going to happen again- nobody's gonna hurt me again- you expect me to remember that, but I don't think you guys do. Nobody's gonna hurt me again, so when it happens- and it's gonna happen again- stop and remember that I had my say in it, and I told him or whoever the hell I'm with to do what they did. Ian won't put a fucking finger on me unless I tell him when to do it, and where to put it. He's the last person you need to be worrying about."

"You get why-"

"Yes, I get why you freaked out, and part of me appreciates it, but there's a time for you to jump in and do that kind of shit and it won't ever be with him." Iggy took a second and nodded. It was only since he calmed down that Mickey saw the damage on Iggy’s face. He had what would soon be a black eye and a cut in his hairline. Mickey also thought he saw a bruise in the shape of teeth on his wrist. He put quarters in the washing machine and pushed some buttons, leaving the empty laundry basket in front of it before walking out with Iggy. They were quiet for a minute before Iggy lifted the wrist Mickey had been eyeing earlier.

"I had him pinned, you know. I would've choked him out, but the motherfucker bit me." He said, trying to lighten the mood. Mickey nodded.

"Yeah, he does that." He replied absentmindedly. The second the words left his mouth, he cringed and felt the familiar rush of embarrassment induced heat rush to his face. Glancing at Iggy, he saw him staring in shock, his top lip curled up as if he'd just seen a naked picture of his mother.

"Don't." It was all he said, but Mickey understood, nodding and putting his head down as they continued walking back to the apartment.

Once he was there, he walked back to his room and grabbed his phone.

_i need to see you_

He sent the text and waited for a response. When one didn't come right away, he got up and grabbed his toothbrush, taking it to the bathroom. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw the marks left on his neck by Ian. They weren't as dark as the ones he'd seen on Mandy after she'd get home from seeing her boyfriend, but there was no mistaking what had caused them. His default response was to feel embarrassed, but he found himself tilting his head to get a better look at them, and he smiled. He remembered how that part of the night felt, lying there with Ian seeming to be consumed with the need to have his mouth on some part of him, so into it that he couldn't even sense that something was wrong. Of course there was nothing good about what had happened, but something in him felt slightly giddy that he'd had that effect on Ian. He'd never felt wanted before and the marks were sort of a reminder that he was, and everyone who saw them would know. He smiled again to himself and began brushing his teeth, his eyes looking at his neck in the mirror again.

When he got back to his room, he grabbed his phone and saw that he'd gotten a response.

_I'm free until 4pm._

He got up and checked his closet, making sure he had at least one pair of pants to wear- luckily he did. He grabbed his phone again and replied.

_coming over right now_

He grabbed the torn and faded jeans he found in the back of his closet and pulled them on. He pulled his oversized sweatshirt on over his tank top, grabbed his phone and his car keys, and headed out, waving to Iggy and Mandy on his way out. Neither of them asked questions, figuring he just needed some space, which he appreciated. There were times when he wanted them to smother him- it reminded him that he was loved and that there were at least two people who would do anything for him. He thought back at memories of the three of them living together when they were younger, and how good it felt to have Iggy around all the time, even though he knew that it wouldn't last forever and eventually he'd go back home and stay there. He didn't want to think about that. Though he got annoyed at times, and downright pissed off at others, having Iggy and Mandy together at the same time was all he wanted at times, though he'd never tell them that.

It only took a few minutes to get to Clint's office, and when he drove up and parked, he sat in his car for a couple minutes thinking about how much he wanted to talk about. He was going to end up telling Clint everything, he knew that. The man had some kind of pull over anyone he talked to and could get any bit of information he wanted or needed from them. When he walked in, he went straight to the front desk and handed the receptionist his credit card without saying a word. It was sad, but they knew him there and there was no need for small talk. He paid his copayment and sat down, waiting to be called in. It only took a couple minutes, and Clint opened his door, peeking his head out.

“Mick?" Mickey nodded and got up, walking into the office and heading straight to the couch. Scanning Clint's office and desk, he saw that there were no files in sight, and he was extremely grateful for it. He'd hoped that Clint wouldn't assume that was why he was coming in because he wasn't sure how he would tell him that he just wasn't ready for it today. “Mickey?" He jumped when Clint said his name and looked at him. “You okay? You're zoning out."

“Um... Something happened..." Clint pointed his pen toward Mickey and waved it around a little.

“Does that ‘something' have something to do with all those hickeys on your neck?" Mickey dropped his head, the joy he felt about the marks fading as embarrassment took over. He nodded. “What happened?" Mickey took a breath and tried to think of how to word things and how to explain it.

“I took more pills than I should've." He admitted. Clint stared at him, his face was unreadable as it usually was.

“How many did you take?" He was terrified of Clint's reaction.

“Four." Clint opened Mickey's file and scanned through it, running his pen over the lines as he read.

“I gave you Ativan. You're supposed to take up to two a day, as needed. You took four at the same time?" Mickey nodded. “Were you having an attack?"

“No. I went on a date with Ian and when we got home, I thought we might try messing around and I didn't want to chicken out so... I thought taking four would keep me calm."

“Did it?" Mickey hesitated, but shook his head. “What happened?" It was strange how Mickey's nails always became the most interesting things when he was in this office. He found himself picking at them yet again.

“We were kissing and I told him to just keep going unless I told him to stop cause I wanted to go further." He paused, feeling embarrassed about the fact that he'd have to describe what he and Ian had done. “I felt like I should panic, but it was like the attack never came, but I was crying."

“Did Ian stop?" Mickey suddenly felt defensive over Ian. He didn't want anyone blaming him.

“I told him not to." Clint wrote something down. “He asked me if it was okay to, um... He put his hand down my pants and I told him to keep going so he did." He thought back and remembered how he felt, as if he was reliving it and he was scared to get to the point where he had the attack. “I started crying again but told him not to stop, so he didn’t, and he did this-" He motioned toward his neck. “While he was doing it and it was like my head was doing one thing, but my body did another and I couldn't let him stop because it..." He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands again. “It felt good... But when it was done, and I... When I finished, it all hit me. It was really intense and just a few seconds after, I tried to remember it and couldn't. I could even still feel it a little but I couldn't remember right before or during..." He had trouble saying it. He'd never had to before.

“During your orgasm?" Clint asked bluntly. Mickey nodded.

“I started feeling sick and... It was really bad. I couldn't move or talk and he kept kissing my neck so he couldn't see. He didn't know something was wrong. When I tried to lift my hands, it was really hard and once he realized it, he got off of me but I lost it. I can't remember ever freaking out that bad. I was screaming..." Clint kept writing as Mickey spoke.

“Okay, so you took a double dose of your meds, you started messing around, got really into it, he got you off and you blacked out, couldn't remember it." Mickey nodded.

“When I couldn't remember- that's when it happened. That's when I lost it."

“Why?" Mickey stared at him and tried to think back.

“I can't remember what happened before. All the bad shit that happened, and when I couldn't remember what happened with Ian, it felt like it was wrong. Like what he was doing was wrong, and I just froze and couldn't stop him so he kept going and I wanted him to stop." Clint nodded and wrote some more stuff down as Mickey silently watched him.

“So, two things..." Mickey took a deep breath and prepared himself. “I've told you before that any medication I give you needs to be taken exactly as I tell you to." Mickey nodded, feeling like a kid getting scolded for something. “I'm not going to lecture you on that. You know you weren't supposed to, I doubt you'll do it again, considering what happened this time. All these meds, though, the anxiety, depression, bipolar, anti-psychotics, whatever, all of them have lists of side effects that range from dry mouth to death, alright? They mess with your head, and everything that goes on in your body goes back to your head. The fact that you got so horny might have even been caused by the pills. They could've lowered your blood pressure, which caused you to black out, and made it hard for you to move. Sometimes, they actually cause the problems you're taking them for, which could've happened to you. They could've caused your attack to be as intense as it was. I can't blame it all on the pills, though. They might've intensified a lot of what happened, but what happened was all you. You went on a date, I'm assuming you had a good time?" Mickey nodded. “So you go home and you're on a high. People mess around after dates. They make out, they have sex, it's common. You wanting that wasn't abnormal, but the second thing I wanted to talk to you about is the fact that you thought taking extra pills to zone yourself out enough to be able to go through with anything you've had trouble with before. Getting drunk or loaded and then doing what you want to do, but normally can't, is the easiest and most destructive way to get through all of this, Mickey. Anyone can do that, the reason you're here is to get through all this in a healthy way, right?" He nodded. “Does Ian know you doubled the dose?"

“No. I don't even think he remembers I have the pills." Clint nodded.

“Do you think that's fair to him? He was there thinking everything was good, that maybe you've made progress and it was okay for him to do what he was doing, but in reality, you were basically just high and acting like you weren't." Mickey actually hadn't thought of that, but now that he had, he felt even worse. “I'm not trying to drag you further down, Mick, but facts are facts, and if he had known that your consent was only given because you were loaded, I'm willing to bet he wouldn't have gone through with it, and he wouldn't have been the cause of what happened, meaning he wouldn't have the guilt he's probably got." He felt like he was being beaten down, but at the same time he felt like he deserved it. Clint always told him what he needed to hear, and he was telling him things he hadn't even considered.

”I didn‘t feel loaded.” Clint must've heard the shame in his voice, because he instantly lightened up.

“Mistakes were made, alright? It's done, it happened. What it all boils down to is you took too much, and the pills did their job on someone who wasn't ready to go through what they helped with. You'll be ready when you're ready, Mickey. If you've gotta take the edge off before you do something, you shouldn't be doing it. Not when so much has already happened." It made sense. He always fucking made sense. “Have you talked to him?"

“He was gone when I woke up. He and Iggy got into a fight after it happened. Iggy said they're okay now, but he's all beat up. I haven't seen Ian so I don't know how bad he is."

“Iggy and Mandy got involved?"

“Yeah. Mandy helped me, Iggy went after Ian. I'm not really sure of everything that happened, though. Today I talked to Iggy. I told him to stop meddling so much. Told him I love him and appreciate everything, but that he can't just jump in and beat the shit out of whoever is involved in this shit. I think he gets it." Clint wrote something else down and Mickey watched him. “I want to keep going with the files." He said. Clint nodded, not looking up.

“You think you're ready to?" He wasn’t even the least bit sure.

“Yeah."

“Okay. When do you want to come in to resume everything?" Mickey knew if he didn't just do it, it wasn't going to get done. He knew it was never going to get easier. He was never going to walk into this office and hear good news until it was all over. He knew every time he woke up on a day he had an appointment, he was going to dread it, but he had to do it. He had already told himself time and time again that he had to know everything that happened to him. All the voids needed to be filled in order for him to consider everything up to this point done and over with.

“Tomorrow?" He asked, unsure if he'd even be available. Clint looked at the giant calendar that covered his desk.

“Noon?"

“Yeah." Clint wrote Mickey's name on the paper and closed his file. Mickey didn't want to get up. He didn't want to leave the office and go home to his apartment, wondering if Ian was going to return that night or not.

“Wheels are turning." Clint noted, snapping Mickey out of it.

“I want a day off from life." He said, making Clint smile.

“Everyone feels that, Mickey. We don't get days off. You want my advice?" Mickey nodded. “Rent a room at a nice hotel, tell everyone where you're going and when you'll be back. Shut your phone off, and go. Be alone and forget all this shit for a day." It sounded like it might actually work to calm him down. Mickey nodded and Clint stood up. Taking his lead, Mickey did the same and they left the office, making sure the front desk wrote him in for the next day.

When Mickey got home, he walked in on Mandy and Ian sitting on the couch, watching Animal Planet and talking to each other quietly. He closed the door as softly as he could and managed to avoid their attention until he reached the hallway.

“Where'd you go?" Mandy asked. He didn't face them. He felt embarrassed and had no idea what to do or say around Ian.

“Therapy." He walked to his room and shut the door. Just being in his room bothered him. It just forced him to think about everything. He sat down on his bed and pulled his phone out, beginning his search for a hotel room that he could use for a night. He was interrupted by a knock on his door. Closing his eyes in frustration, he lowered his phone. “Yeah?"

“Can I come in?" Ian asked. Mickey got up and walked to the door, cracking it open slightly. Ian tried to hide the hurt on his face when Mickey didn't open the door wider. “Um... I just wanted to make sure you-"

“I'm okay. You?" Ian nodded.

“Shaken up, but no worse than you, I'm sure." Mickey nodded, not knowing what to say to him.

“I'm okay." He repeated. He felt choked up just at the sight of Ian. He never came close without making a fucked up mess of emotions blow up inside Mickey. Looking at his face, Mickey saw the damage Iggy had left. Ian's lip was split open and his cheek was bruised. He likely wouldn't be working at the club for a while until his face healed.

“Um... Okay I'm just gonna- I guess I'm gonna go to the store. Do you need or want anything?" Mickey shook his head and Ian nodded. “Okay. I'll see you later." He turned and began walking away, leaving Mickey there watching him go.

“Are you gonna leave?" He called out before he could think twice about it. Ian stopped and stood there for a second before turning to face him. “Because of what happened. Now that you know how bad it is are you gonna leave?" He asked, his insecurities evident in his voice. Ian stared at him and shook his head.

“No I'm not gonna leave." He said. Mickey nodded.

“Can you sleep here? In here with me tonight? Just sleep." Ian nodded and Mickey breathed in, wiping his eyes as they flooded over. “I’m sorry.” He said. “For what happened. For telling you it was okay when it wasn’t. I’m really sorry.” Ian stared at him. “I know every day you find out something a little worse about me. If you ever just want out, it’s okay.” Ian bit his lip and stared at him.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of.” He said. Mickey smiled and Ian gave a small wave. “See you tonight.” He said, walking down the hall. Mickey nodded and shut his door.


	16. Flaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more files in this chapter and I wanted to say that it's one of those incidents that I didn't make up. It was a story I saw on the news a while back and it's absolutely fucking horrible. If anyone thinks it's disrespectful that I put it in here, I sincerely apologize. It's not my intention to be disrespectful and I try hard every time I write one of these chapters to keep from disrespecting anyone.
> 
> That being said, out of everything I've written so far, I think this might disturb me the most and that might be because I know it actually happened. I'm sure you can google the incident and find the story I'm talking about. If it's possible, the real story is so much worse than what's in this chapter, so be warned about that as well.
> 
> I've written more hopeful chapters that I'll post in the future, which might be why this chapter took so long to put up. My head tends to come up with things out of order, and I feel like I need to write them down before I forget them. So, I can say that despite how depressing and horrible this story can be, there are happier times ahead, as well as more horrible times. I'm not sure which you're looking forward to but either way, hopefully you'll be happy.
> 
> And one more thing- There's cooking in this chapter. I suggest you pay attention to it and try to make it yourself because it's fucking amazing and I love it.

_"You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve_   
_And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground_   
_Dig them up; let's finish what we've started_   
_Dig them up, so nothing's left untouched"_

_-Bastille "Flaws"_

 

He’d woken up facing the wall with his knees and elbows pressed against it as he lay in the fetal position. When he opened his eyes, he drowsily stared at it until movement behind him startled him into turning around, where he found Ian facing him with his eyes closed and his mouth wide open. The pillowcase under his head was soaked with drool and a low snore came from him with every inhale he made. Looking at him, Mickey couldn’t help but feel content. There were no expectations, there was no apprehension, they were just there, in bed, resting for the sake of resting. He felt calm, like he wouldn’t mind waking up to that exact situation every morning. It was only when he remembered that he had a therapy appointment that Mickey grabbed Ian’s cell phone and checked the time. His gasp had woken Ian up, who tried to sit up before Mickey shoved him back down by jumping over him. Once Mickey’s feet made contact with the floor, he began stripping off his pajamas and pulling on some clean clothes, not caring that Ian was watching him. He informed Ian that he had ten minutes to make it to his therapy appointment before bending down to kiss him and darting out his bedroom door.

So, there he sat, waiting as Clint looked through some files, seeming to second guess what he had already planned. Mickey watched his therapist as the man frowned and shook his head, muttering to himself before flipping through pages, opening different files, and reorganizing everything to his liking.

“Okay.” Clint said, looking at him.

“Figure it out?” Mickey asked. Clint raised his eyebrows, shaking his head and looking at the stack he’d organized.

“No way to make it any less difficult, there’s nothing good in these things.” Mickey bit his lip and looked down at his fidgeting hands before nodding. “Mickey?” He looked up again. “We don’t talk much about how to handle all this when you leave here.” They really didn’t, and Mickey knew that but never thought to ask for more advice than what he was given.

“What the hell can possibly make this easier?” He asked.

“Nothing’s going to make it easier. I want to talk about ways to help you when you start to feel overwhelmed.” Mickey was growing somewhat impatient. All he wanted to do was burn through the stacks of papers they still had left, and he had no interest in anything else until that was done.

“Are we going to have enough time to talk about that? Cause I-”

“We’ll go over the hour, I don’t give a shit. The more intense these things get, the more we need to work on channeling your anxiety.”

“Channel it how?”

“Into something constructive. What sort of things do you do in your spare time?” Mickey shrugged.

“Read? Watch TV?” Clint shook his head. “What? That’s what I do.”

“I know it’s what you do, Mickey, it’s just that those things could possibly trigger you.”

“Anything could fucking trigger me, my head never fucking stops thinking. Eventually, I’m gonna get triggered.”

“And what will you do when you’re triggered and your head spins around thinking about all the shit in these files that’s only gonna get worse?”

“I cry it out and sleep it off.” Mickey answered honestly.

“Which isn’t working out very well.”

“You didn’t ask if what I do works out well, you just ask what I do.” He pointed out.

“Do you know what free association is?” Mickey simply stared at him, knowing that Clint knew he had no idea, thus feeling no obligation to say he didn’t. “It’s especially good for people like you, who can’t seem to turn their thoughts off. You either say or write whatever comes to your head, and you don’t stop.”

“Ever?” Mickey asked.

“Don’t be a smartass.” Mickey smiled.”Your head’s always going, so, say you write it all down as it’s happening- as you’re panicking, and you write down why you’re panicking, what it feels like, what you think is going to happen, why you think that, you just go, and you keep going until you’ve calmed down. Or you can talk- just tell everyone beforehand, before anything happens- like when you go home- that you plan on trying this method whenever you have an attack. You tell them to just let you talk, to not intervene or offer advice, to not judge you, criticize your train of thought, or try to reassure you. They just need to be there, and you need to let it out. Don’t wait for them to ask questions about how you’re feeling or why, you just say it.”

“That would be great if I didn’t basically go catatonic when I have an attack.” Mickey noted.

“You do it before you get to that point, you keep yourself in check, in the moment, so you don’t zone out and lose it. You hold on and focus on what’s happening instead of mentally fleeing from it.” Mickey thought about it. The writing method didn’t intimidate him, but letting the thoughts in his head run wild- letting everyone know what was actually going through his head- was absolutely terrifying.

“If I tell people what I’m thinking, they’ll want nothing to do with me.” Clint sat back in his chair.

“Who’s ‘people’, Mickey? Your brother and sister? Me? Ian?” Mickey stared at him. “You’ve got a small circle of people around you, Mickey, but they’re good, understanding people.”

“Being understanding only goes so far.” Clint never took his eyes off Mickey.

“Have you been honest with me the entire time you’ve been here? From the beginning?” Mickey thought back and slowly shook his head.

“Not in the beginning, but you got the truth out of me eventually. If you’re going to try to reassure me by telling me that you haven’t judged me, even though you know everything about me, don’t, cause you went to school for this and you know how to react to everything I throw at you. They’re not doctors, they weren’t trained in this shit.” Clint smiled.

“You make it sound like I’m a dog or something. Trained?” Mickey nodded. “Mick, your brother and sister have seen the worst of you. They know what happened to you- they saw it with their own eyes. They’ve seen you curl into a ball and cry until you basically pass out from exhaustion, they’ve helped you strip your bed after you’ve had accidents, they drive you here because they know you need it, and they never treat you any differently, do they?”

“They’re my family, they can’t.” Clint shrugged his shoulders.

“So, who’s left that isn’t family? Cause we already covered me. We know I’m not going to judge you.” Mickey stared at him, somewhat annoyed.

“You know who.” Clint nodded.

“I do. I know exactly who, and I know you’re feeling what you’re feeling for him, and it’s overpowering and good, and real- all of that- but I want to tell you that none of what you feel will mean shit if he isn’t what you think he is, or what he’s made himself out to be.” Mickey felt a small bit of panic welling up in his chest. “If you break down, what does he do?”

“Whatever he can to help.”

“And if he doesn’t do that one of these times? If he leaves or gives up?” Mickey shook his head and began breathing slower to calm down. “What are you thinking, Mickey?” He shook his head again, looking down. “You gotta get used to letting it out. You can’t just tell people nothing’s wrong when you’ve got a fucking tsunami of shit going on inside of you.”

“I don’t want to think about him giving up.” Mickey answered honestly. He looked at Clint when he got no response, and found the man staring at him. He remembered what he’d said about just letting out whatever he was thinking, and not being interrupted or offered advice. “I feel sick when I think about it. It actually hurts when I think about it. My body fucking hurts, it tightens up and it feels like pressure everywhere. I don’t think I could handle him leaving. I know that’s not good, is it?” Clint shrugged.

“It’s good and bad. You’ve finally started to care about someone who isn’t family, which is good. He’s also got a lot of power over you, and it happened really fast, which can be dangerous for you. You need to understand that relationships fail every day, and if yours does, for whatever reason, the world’s going to keep on turning even if you don’t want it to. You’re gonna wake up the next day, you’re going to get dressed, you’re going to eat, you’re gonna come here, you’re going to go on, even if you don’t want to because that’s what we do.”

“We?”

“People. Every one of us has placed ourselves in the palm of someone else’s hand at one point in our lives. There’s times that doing that is the worst thing you can do.” None of this was making Mickey feel any better. “There’s also times when it’s okay, as long as you retain some of the power over your emotions for yourself- as long as you can stand on your own two feet and rely on yourself in case things go bad.” Mickey nodded. “Say you try this method we’re talking about. Think back to one of your attacks and try to remember what was going through your head, no matter how gritty or disturbing it was. Imagine saying all of it out loud right to Ian’s face and tell me if you think he’d walk away after hearing it.” Mickey didn’t even have to think about it.

“He wouldn’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because before we were even together, he was taking care of me.” He blurted out. Clint stared at him, wanting him to elaborate. “He knew. I don’t know how much he knew cause I don’t know how much Mandy told him, but he knew something and he made sure I was okay as long as he was around.” Thinking back to everything choked him up. “He would go out of his way to give me room so I didn’t feel uncomfortable, you know? Even when he knew I was going to say no, he asked me if I wanted to join in whatever he and Mandy were doing. He always made me food, even when Mandy wasn’t there, he changed my sheets for me when I freaked out a while ago. Even when I didn’t realize it, he was there. It was just stupid little shit, but I look back and remember it for some reason, so it’s gotta mean something to me. It had to have meant something.” He glanced at Clint, who was still staring. “And now... He works two jobs. He spent months putting money aside for a date, when he didn’t even know if I would say yes to him. Whenever we’ve messed around, I’ve left him hanging- I’ve never once did anything to get him off, and he never complains. He never even mentions it. And what happened with the pills...” He felt sick just thinking about it. “He saw how bad it could get. Iggy fucking attacked him, and the very next day, he knocked on my door to make sure I was okay. His face was busted up and he was worried about me.” He shook his head and gave himself a minute to calm down. He felt more calm having let it all out and looked at Clint with a little more confidence than before. “He’s not going to just walk away. I know you’re going to tell me I can’t know that, but I do. He’s not going to leave.” He saw a small smile come to Clint’s face.

“Then when you tell him about what I’ve suggested, and if you choose to do it, he’s gonna stand in front of you, and he’s going to do his part and let you do what you need to do. Then, when it’s over, he’s going to just accept whatever you’ve said as a part of you- because it is- and he’s going to stay put through it all, isn’t he? He’s not going to judge you and walk away, is he?” Mickey shook his head without hesitation. “Mandy and Iggy aren’t going to either, are they?” He shook his head again. “Then you’ve got a small but stable circle of people in your life, which is more than a lot of well balanced mentally healthy people can say.” Mickey felt calm and confident in what Clint was saying and couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s more of a triangle than a circle.” He corrected.

“Square, actually.” Clint replied, raising his hand slightly and making Mickey laugh to himself, nodding in agreement. They were silent for a minute and Mickey looked at the files.

“Are we still doing those?”

“You’re really eager.”

“I want them done. I want to know it all so it’s over.” He said. Clint nodded.

“Okay, well last time, I had six files left to go over in the group we were covering before you left. Today, I planned on just picking up where we left off, but I decided not to. I am going over the four files that included the same incident, just repeated, just to get those out of the way, but the other two can wait. Instead, I took two more out of the stack, so we can get six done today. Is that okay with you?” Mickey stared at him.

“We can’t do more?” Clint shook his head.

“We’re not doing more than that in one visit. I know you want this done, but there’s such a thing as too much, Mickey, and even though I’m not going to tell you what you can and can’t handle, I’ve got a part in all this and I’m not going against my judgment. I hope you can understand that.” Mickey nodded. He did understand it, but he was still annoyed by it. Clint picked up one of the files and looked at Mickey, who stared back with a stoic look on his face. He was terrified but determined, and he gave a small nod, looking down at his hands as he always did when he was nervous. “This is one of the two I picked today. It says a rag is held up to your face and you struggle, but seem to get weaker. It doesn’t say what it was soaked in, but they take it away when you’re barely conscious. They take off your clothes and two men masturbate over you, occasionally rubbing their genitals on you. Once they both ejaculate on you, they take turns licking it off of you. That’s where it ends.” Mickey had to search through his racing thoughts to figure out exactly how he felt about what he was just told. He looked at Clint, who closed the file after looking over it one more time.

“I don’t feel as bad about that one.” Mickey said honestly.

“Why?”

“I wasn’t even there for it, really.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “They didn’t touch me, except for at the end, I didn’t touch them. I was just like a prop or something.” Clint nodded and took some notes.

“Does it bother you that they drugged you?” Mickey nodded.

“That bothers me, yeah.” Clint kept writing and Mickey got curious. “Do they do it again? Drug me in any of the other files?” Clint nodded.

“Several, especially the worst ones and when you’re older because you fight it more. In a lot of the more extreme files, you’re older and you’re either restrained or drugged. I didn’t read a single one where you willingly engaged in any activities without either being threatened or without anything in your system.” Mickey stared at him.

“So I did things willingly when they drugged me?”

“It’s not willing if you’re intoxicated in any way, Mickey, we’ve gone over that. You can’t give consent if you’re not all there. It’s also not consent if you’re being threatened. Consent is ’I want this’ not ’Please don’t do that, I’ll do anything’. You have to remember that.” It didn’t make Mickey feel any better and he breathed deep, getting Clint’s attention. “Let it out.” He said. Mickey shook his head.

“I don’t feel like that’s true.”

“Like what’s true?” Clint asked.

“When I was with Ian, I wanted it and I was high, according to you.”

“According to science, with the amount you took and how strong the pills were, you were high, not according to me.”

“Well, whatever. Just because I’ve got something in my system doesn’t mean I can’t want what’s going on.”

“When you were with Ian.” Clint reiterated.

“What?”

“You said ‘when you were with Ian’, you wanted it and you were high. You were with Ian. You have feelings for him. These are random sexually abusive men. Whether you’re loaded or not, you’re a child and you’re being abused.Some people have orgasms when they’re being raped, it doesn’t mean they want it, Mickey. It’s biology. If you’re high in any of these incidents, even if your body reacts to what they’re doing, it’s still rape and abuse. If it were consensual, they wouldn’t need to drug you to keep you still so they could do these things. Don’t compare what you do with Ian to what happened in these files.”

“I’m not trying to compare them.”

“But you are.” Mickey was getting angry. Sometimes, Clint pushed him too far, and he felt like he was getting to the point where he wanted to walk out again.

“You said you didn’t see anything in those where I didn’t willingly do anything unless I was restrained or high. Unless. That means I did things willingly for whatever reason, and I’m not okay with that. You want to know how I feel, that’s how I feel.”

“And it makes sense that you feel that way, and we’ll get to those incidents soon. Once you know all the details, you might feel differently, but for right now, we’re going over what I’ve got right in front of me, not what I read when you first gave me all of these. We’re getting too far ahead and we need to cover this shit before we move onto that shit, alright? Is that okay?” Mickey took a second, but nodded. “Okay. Can we go on to the next one?” He nodded again and Clint opened the next folder. “This one has you naked, they pour some kind of oil or lube on you, and rub your entire body. It goes on for about twenty minutes, and they instruct you on what to do and say, telling you to make certain noises when they touch certain parts, mainly instructing you to make sexual noises and swear when they touch your genitals, as if you’re enjoying it. You were nine years old and it says your body never responds to the stimulation.” He closed the file and looked at Mickey. “So, they’re instructing you on what to say and do to make it appear that you’re enjoying yourself when you obviously physically aren’t aroused by it.” Mickey nodded.

“That one’s worse.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Twenty minutes?” Clint nodded. When Mickey thought about how long that was, he felt worse. He looked at the clock and put it into perspective by noting how much they had covered in the last twenty minutes, and how long it had taken. He imagined lying there, being violated for that length of time and it seemed unthinkable. He knew Clint was going to ask him how he was feeling, or what he was thinking, so he tried to think of what to say when he did.

“You obviously have an aversion to being touched.” Mickey nodded. “Can I ask a personal question? You don’t have to answer.” Having Clint ask that made him nervous. “When you’re in the moment- like when Ian was stimulating you, do you feel anything when it comes to being vocal? Do you talk to him or let him know how you’re feeling?” Mickey shook his head.

“It only happened once.”

“I know it did.” Mickey thought back to his time with Ian.

“I told him I wanted it when he was doing it, but I think I was mostly talking to myself. I didn’t really know I was saying it until he said something back. I didn’t make much noise.”

“And when you’re by yourself?” Mickey shook his head. He was always quiet, even when he was alone in the apartment.

“Even when it feels like it would be natural, whenever I hear myself make noise it sounds fake. It’s unnecessary... Like exaggerated.” It somewhat made sense then. He didn’t know if he was reaching while trying to find a way to connect what had happened to him to something he did that was strange as an adult, but there was no denying how he felt about vocal expression when he was turned on. Whether it had anything to do with any of the abuse he suffered, he didn’t know, but it made sense if it did. “I don’t know if it has anything to do with that.” He admitted honestly. Clint shrugged his shoulders.

“It could, or it could not. You can be pretty timid, and not everyone is loud in bed. You may just be wired a certain way, or it could have something to do with this, we don’t know.” Mickey nodded, trying to think about how he would feel if he tried something with Ian again and attempted to be more vocal- to make noise to let Ian know how he was doing and what he liked. He felt embarrassed at the very thought of it and had no idea how he would even manage to act that way. “You ready for these?” He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Clint.

“You know I never am.” Clint nodded.

“Yeah, me neither.” He spread the folders out and looked at them, not even bothering to open them. “In all four of these, you’re between 6 and 10 years old.” He pointed at each file as he said the ages. “Six, seven, seven, and ten.” Mickey nodded. “You’re fully clothed, and each time you’re crying. The camera is filming you from the waist up and each of the files say your shirt is a mess when the video starts. You protest and tell them you don’t want to do it anymore, but they grab you by the chin and shove a spoon in your mouth. In two of them, it says it’s put in your mouth with such force that they can hear the metal hit your teeth, and other times, you gag from it being shoved too far into your mouth.” Mickey was confused, but paid close attention. “Three of these have you spitting out what they’ve fed you and it goes down your face, worsening the mess on your shirt. It says in the paperwork that it appears to be semen.” He felt like shutting down. That’s all he wanted to do was stop Clint right there and walk out like he had before, but he held onto the couch instead and continued listening. “In total, between the four files, I counted 18 spoonfuls of it. You swallowed twelve of them, spit the rest out, and threw up three times. On two occasions, a man leans in and licks it off your face, then kisses you, holding you in place when you resist. You don’t stop crying.” Mickey shook his head.

“I don’t want to hear anymore.” He said. Clint stacked the files again.

“It’s done. That’s all that’s in them.” Mickey started crying.

“Oh, is that all? Thank god it wasn’t that bad.” He said sarcastically.

“Mickey?”

“You want me to talk through it? Cause I feel it coming.” Mickey said, breathing harder.

“Talk through it.”

“Okay... Okay... I feel disgusting. I feel like I need to wash my mouth out, brush my teeth, throw up- whatever. Just clean my mouth out, and I know it’s not there. It’s done, it happened a long time ago, but I feel like I’m fucking filthy. I don’t even want to swallow my spit right now.” He took slow, deep breaths. “I don’t want anyone to know. It’s fucking disgusting and I don’t want them to know. I don’t want Ian to know because he won’t want me. He’ll think it’s fucking gross and he won’t want to kiss me or be near me anymore. He’ll think it’s gross, right?” He asked, needing reassurance.

“Anyone who hears about it will think it’s gross, Mickey. It, not you.”

“They put it in my mouth-”

“They did. Does the fact that they fed it to you disturb you or having it in your mouth? What do you think would disturb people more?”

“Them feeding it to me.” He answered honestly, trying to slow his breathing down as he bent over with his elbows on his knees.

“The actual act of abuse would bother them more.” Mickey nodded. “Do you think that would make Ian think you’re disgusting? That they abused you? Or the fact that you had semen in your mouth?”

“Both.”

“I know it may seem gross to you, Mickey, but I’m sure a lot of the people you’ve had contact with have had it in their mouth.”

“Forcefully?” Mickey breathed in through his nose and out slowly through his mouth.

“No, not forcefully, but that’s the abuse aspect of it. You can feel gross about it. You should feel gross about it because, yet again, you were violated, but I don’t want you thinking it’s going to make people think you’re disgusting, because you’re not.” Mickey looked at him. “And Ian? Do you think he’d leave because of that? That he’d distance himself or not want you anymore because of it? Because something gross happened to you? Because remember what we talked about. You’re gonna get hurt if he isn’t want he’s made himself out to be, and he hasn’t made himself out to be someone who would leave you because of something that’s happened, has he?” Mickey shook his head.

“It’s different.”

“Is it? Because he knows you’ve been touched and violated everywhere else and he’s got nothing in him but the desire to love you, and touch you despite all that. He’s not stupid, Mickey, I’m sure he knows that things have happened to you that were horrible and disgusting but he doesn’t look at you and see that. Do you kiss him and think about the fact that he’s probably given blowjobs before?” Mickey thought back to the time when Ian told him he’d prostituted himself, and he thought about every time he’d kissed him and not once had Ian’s admission deterred him from wanting to kiss or touch him. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shook his head. “The majority of our lives, and our sexual encounters occur after having been touched, or experiencing things prior. That’s not what we think about when we’re with someone we love. We think about them. He’ll think about you, I assure you, Mickey. He’s not going to walk away because of what you discover happened to you.” Mickey had started to calm down.

“And if he does?” He asked, terrified of the thought of it. Clint shook his head.

“Then you let him go, and you hope that the next person you meet isn’t a piece of shit like him.” Mickey stared at him and Clint stared right back. The thought of Ian leaving because of something like this felt like it was ruining him. He felt sick and angry over something that hadn’t happened- over something that might not ever happen, but what Clint had said made sense. If someone left another person because of something like this, it was shitty, and it didn’t reflect on the person who had been abused, it reflected on the person who left. It didn’t make him feel better, but it made sense. He nodded and wiped his eyes a final time, lifting his head up.

“He’s not a piece of shit.” He said. Clint shook his head again.

“I don’t think he is. I don’t think he’s gonna give two shits about this, except for wanting to help you through it and wanting to comfort you. I haven’t heard anything about him that suggests otherwise.” Mickey nodded. “Are you going to tell him?” Mickey instinctively shook his head.

“You think I should.” Mickey said. He wasn’t asking, he already knew Clint did.

“I can’t say whether you should or shouldn’t. It’s not my place to tell you how much information to divulge in your relationship. It’s up to you and him how much you tell each other.” Mickey nodded and sat quietly for a minute, wondering if he should be transparent with his new boyfriend. Then he thought about how weird it was that he had a boyfriend, and his confidence took a hit when he wondered if Ian considered himself his boyfriend. He remembered everything Ian had said when they were at lunch before their date, and realized there really was no way they couldn’t be boyfriends. It was just what they were.

“Time’s up?” He asked, looking at Clint, who smiled.

“Technically, time’s been up for almost an hour.”

“Do you need another copay?” Mickey asked.

“A visit is a visit, no matter how long. No, I don’t need another copay.” Mickey nodded and stood up. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Do you have anything like a couple hours later?” Mickey asked, remembering the rush he’d been in that morning.

“Eleven?”

“Sounds good.”

“You want me to schedule you in for eleven for the rest of the week?” Mickey nodded and walked with Clint out the door, where they parted ways.

When Mickey got back to the apartment, he was alone. There were times he’d find it unpleasant and depressing to come home to an empty house, but today it felt peaceful, and it gave him time to think about what he was going to do when his family got home, and if he was going to tell any of them what he’d learned in therapy. He knew he for sure was going to inform them of Clint’s new method of coping, because it seemed to work and keep him coherent during the attack he had at the office, so he hoped with his family’s help, he could manage to keep from becoming hysterical ever again. As his mind ran in circles, he found himself searching through the cabinets and freezer for food to cook for dinner. He ended up with frozen chicken and a blender full of olive oil, cream cheese, green onions, cilantro, lime juice, and salt. He left everything there, placing the chicken in a bag and dumping it in a sink of warm water in an attempt to defrost it. He figured it would be ready to work with by the time he got out of the shower he felt he so desperately needed.

It was a quick one, and when he stepped out, he grabbed his toothbrush and drenched it in toothpaste, scrubbing his teeth, gums, and tongue a little too hard. He realized what he was doing when he spit into the sink and the foam was tinted pink with blood. He spit one final time before unscrewing the cap on a bottle of mouthwash and filling his mouth. He fought through the burning pain as he swished it around and then spit it in the sink, turning the water on to wash everything down the drain. His mouth was left with a slight stinging sensation, which he ignored as he got dressed and headed back to the kitchen.

The chicken was thawed, so he decided to get to work despite how early it was in the day. Figuring the food would be ready around 3, he thought maybe it could count as an early dinner and they could all go do something after to keep their night busy. He grabbed a knife and somewhat zoned out as he slapped each chicken breast on a cutting board and removed the fat before cutting them halfway down the center and tilting the knife to create pockets for the concoction he made in the blender. Once all of the chicken had been prepared, he dumped the contents of the blender into a gallon sized Ziplock bag and cut the corner off, using it as a piping bag to stuff the chicken with the cream cheese filling. It didn’t take too long to finish all four and Mickey looked down at them, not able to help noticing how boring they looked.

Heading to the fridge, he found two packages of bacon, feeling like they were sent to him by God himself, he rummaged through the silverware drawer and found a box of toothpicks. He used them to hold the bacon in place as he wrapped the chicken up into neat little packages. Setting the oven to 350, he put the chicken in a casserole dish and put foil over it, sticking it in without waiting for it to preheat. After that was out of the way, he grabbed a bag of potatoes from the cabinet and began peeling and cutting them. He set them in a pot of water on the stove and turned it on. The last thing he did was take the somewhat sad looking asparagus one of them had purchased at the store who knows how long ago and trimmed the bottoms off. He set them aside and went to sit down on the couch to wait until the potatoes had finished boiling.

As he lay on the couch, he felt peaceful and it didn’t cross his mind that what he’d done in the kitchen required his full attention, so he hadn’t had time to stress about the things he felt like he needed to. Instead, his mind went right to what it had been obsessing over. The comfort and peace he’d felt didn’t fully subside, but it was threatened by his thoughts, which he was snapped out of by a hissing sound in the kitchen. He ran over in time to see the potatoes boiling over and without thinking, he grabbed the pan, causing boiling water to spill on him. He cried out and went to the sink, running cold water over his hand. He was angry, but it was an irrational kind of anger where he wished potatoes didn’t exist and he wanted to kill everyone in Idaho. Instead of creating a plan to do so, he grabbed potholders and drained the pan into a strainer.

It took him nearly ten minutes to find a potato masher, but he did. He mixed sour cream, butter, garlic salt, and parsley in with the potatoes and took out his rage by smashing them with maybe a little too much force.

“What did they ever do to you?” He jumped at the sound of Ian’s voice and turned to see him walking in the door.

“Where’d you go?” Ian smiled.

“I have good news.” Mickey turned back to his potatoes and continued his assault.

“Yeah?” Ian walked up and leaned over, kissing Mickey’s temple.

“I went to the club.” Mickey’s mood somewhat fell, but he continued listening. “They want me to move into the upstairs office. They want me to be the training manager.” Mickey looked at him. “My boss told me that they’ve seen how I treat people there, and how I can do pretty much any job, right down to cleaning the bathrooms and they want me to take all the new hires and train them in everything, even dancing and bartending. It’s like a ten buck an hour raise. I’m so fucking happy right now I can’t even express it because I’ll scare everyone I love.” Mickey couldn’t stop the huge smile from taking over his face. The thought of Ian doing primarily office work and training made him so much happier than he was when Ian was dancing full time. He grabbed Ian and hugged him tightly, forgetting all the bad shit he’d gone through that day, even if only for a few minutes. “Are you making dinner?” Mickey nodded and let go of him. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I put things together that I like and hope for the best.”

“I smell bacon.” Mickey shook his head.

“The cops stopped by earlier asking about a noise complaint.” He said, earning a shove from Ian.

“I’m gonna go take a shower. Are we having early dinner?” Mickey nodded.

“It’s still got a while to go but I’m guessing it’ll be within the hour. Are Iggy and Mandy coming home? Where are they?”

“Mandy’s car broke down so Iggy took her to work. Her shift ended a little while ago so I’m guessing Iggy went to pick her up.” Mickey felt better knowing they would all be there for dinner. He liked when they were all together.

His siblings walked through the door about fifteen minutes after Ian had left the room and Mandy hugged him from behind.

“You’re cooking. I like when you cook.” He smiled and she leaned in to his ear, still hugging him. “Iggy talked to me. Told me we needed to back off of you and I wanted to say I’m sorry for smothering you.” He nodded, feeling bad for snapping at Iggy like he had even though it had all been resolved. Mandy kissed his cheek and messed his hair up, shoving his head forward roughly before walking away. He took out another pan and poured some oil in, turning the heat on and cutting up some garlic. Once the pan was hot enough, he tossed the garlic in before putting the asparagus on top and salting it. He continuously rolled it all around until he was sure it was all cooked evenly, then he placed it on a paper towel and got plates out. He glanced over and watched Ian, Iggy, and Mandy all talking while they flipped through channels and he felt content and happy. By the time he took the chicken out of the oven, the bacon around each one had gotten crispy enough to stay in place after he took out the toothpicks. He put one breast on each plate, then added mashed potatoes and asparagus. He took the plates to the table and grabbed some beers and utensils.

“Done.” He called. The three of them turned their heads at the same time and got up as if the couch were on fire. Various noises came out of them as they saw what he’d made for them. Both Iggy and Mandy knew what it was and even though Ian didn’t know, he looked equally as happy.

They all ate, talking about how good the food was and how it was Mickey’s new job to make dinner every night because it would save them money and to everyone’s surprise, Iggy offered to do the dishes, breaking two in the process. Rather than going out after their early dinner, they all gathered around the TV and browsed bad horror movies, finishing three before the sun went down. It was then that they all parted ways- Mandy dragging Iggy to a gay bar so they could get free drinks, and Ian following Mickey into his room and resting back on his bed with him, staring up at the ceiling. Mickey’s head swam with possibilities of what would happen if he told Ian what he’d learned in therapy that day, and he thought about what Clint had said, how someone who walks away because of someone else being abused really is a piece of shit, and he had confidence that Ian wasn’t.

“Clint went over a new method today. Of calming myself down.” Ian kept his eyes on the ceiling.

“Yeah?”

“He said to keep talking. Get every thought out no matter how bad, stupid, or offensive it is, to just say it out loud. He told me to tell you guys in case I need to do it.” Ian nodded.

“You gonna go on and on about how my face makes you sick and you hate it?” He asked.

“I like your face.” Mickey muttered. He hesitated saying more, but knew that for his own peace of mind, he had to. He took a deep breath. “We went over some files.” He said. There was a pause before Ian responded.

“Yeah?” Mickey nodded.

“They apparently drugged me a few times. Put rags soaked in something over my face and then did stuff.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t know yet. He said there were more, but they’re in the more extreme files so we haven’t gotten to them yet.”

“You okay?” Ian asked, continuing to stare at the ceiling. Mickey nodded, not saying anything.

“He read four more to me. All the same thing, just different times.” He struggled to get the words out. They were too disgusting. “I guess they’d jerk off into spoons and feed it to me. He said it happened 18 times and I swallowed it 12. I threw up 3 times.” He waited for Ian to say something, but nothing came. He felt tears coming to his eyes, terrified that both he and Clint were wrong and this actually was too much for Ian. “I didn’t want to tell you cause it’s gross. Eating it... Having it in my mouth, then in my body... I just feel disgusting and I didn’t know if you would think I’m disgusting, too.” Again, Ian remained silent and the tears fell down Mickey’s face, falling toward his ears as his eyes followed the ceiling fan.

“You ever take biology, Mickey?” He frowned and looked at Ian, who had no emotion on his face as his eyes wandered over the ceiling. “Where they talk about your body and all the shit it does... You know that all the acid in your stomach causes the cells there to regenerate about every five days?” Mickey was confused, but looked up at the ceiling again, trying to prepare himself to give up. “There’s parts of your brain and heart that barely regenerate in your life, if they even do at all. So the head and heart you’ve got right now are the same ones you had when they did all that shit to you.” Mickey breathed deep. “Your skin, though... It dies off and regenerates every week. Over and over again, nonstop til you die. I think that’s why when your skin gets hurt, it heals so quickly, but your head and heart aren’t so lucky. Shit stays there and they might stay damaged for the rest of your life.” Mickey closed his eyes. He opened them again when he felt Ian’s hand gently grab his own. “No one’s ever put a finger on what you’re made of now, Mickey. You’ve regrown so many times that whatever they left on you is gone, and it’s aways gonna be gone. No matter what I touch on you, I’m always gonna be the first person to touch it, cause you’re not what you were back then. All that shit’s dead.” He ran his fingers up Mickey’s palm, to his wrist, and back down. “You’re not disgusting, Mickey.’ He brought Mickey’s hand up and kissed it. “You never have been.” Ian turned to face him and reached over to wipe his face off. Mickey had no control over himself as he moved in and grabbed Ian, squeezing him tightly and burying his face in his chest. Neither of them said another word, they just fell asleep, their grips on each other loosening slightly, but not breaking,


	17. You Found Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FUCKED UP
> 
> I have a notebook where I keep track of all the files, what they are, what chapters they're in, etc. but I misplaced it when I was writing the last chapter, and once I found it, I realized that the "moderate" files were completed and Mandy was supposed to be in one of them, but she wasn't. So, rather than writing a chapter where it's like "Oh, and I forgot THIS file right here", I'm just going to own up to my mistake and edit the earlier chapter so Mandy gets spared and isn't in one of those files at all. Giant fuck-up and I'm sorry but this is all a learning process, right? That's why I don't have tons of money from books purchased by horny preteens, cause I make mistakes still. One day, though. One day.
> 
> Anyway, this is kind of a short chapter and I decided to try a little bit of a different approach, so hopefully you don't hate it. I don't plan on shying away from all the horrible details in the future, so don't worry.
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen Oculus, you're smart and I'm not sorry for spoiling the ending.

_"I'd become comfortably numb_   
_Until you opened up my eyes_   
_To what it's like_   
_When everything's right"_

-Kelly Clarkson, "You Found Me"

 

He knew isolating himself was the worst thing he could do, but he had no interest in seeing or talking to anyone, Ian included. Deep down, he was glad Ian was at work because he would've had a hard time telling him to leave him the fuck alone. Mandy understood, however, and his talk with Iggy had stuck with both of them, so they kept their distance, telling him instead that they were there and if he needed anything, to just yell and they'd get it for him, no questions asked. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since his therapy visit, but when he left the office, he was coherent. He made sure he was. It was only after he got into the car that his hopeful demeanor faded and his true feelings showed as he ignored every word his sister said and stared out the window like a fucking zombie. Every coping mechanism he’d been taught or told about no longer existed, and he fell into his old habits.

The files were on their way to being finished, but as Clint has previously promised, they were going to get worse before he could get better. He was right. The visual of the acts he was forced to perform in the mildest of the more extreme files had Mickey excusing himself to the bathroom, where he promptly threw up before returning to the leather couch he'd become so accustomed to. Clint didn’t have a clue what had happened, and if he did, he didn’t mention it. Mickey also apparently did well hiding the tremors in his hands by pinning them between his knees as he leaned forward, feigning interest in what the older man was reading to him. He had no interest in it anymore. It had only been the first day of the last group of incidents, and only one act took place in three of the files, but that was all it took to put him in a daze as he rested on his side in bed once he got home. That was all he could do- get into bed facing the wall with his hands once again pinned between his knees, the overwhelming urge to wash them making him shake with anxiety.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up to a dip in the mattress behind him. He gripped his pants, which were soaked, and closed his eyes in frustration, the urge to cry from it all coming faster than he would’ve liked.

“Can you go?” He asked quietly, knowing it was Ian and not wanting him to see what had happened. Ian didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but let out a breath eventually.

“Yeah.” was all he said. Mickey closed his eyes in relief when he felt Ian get off the bed and heard the door open and shut. Mickey reluctantly sat up, and when he turned around, there was no stopping his emotions from taking over. On his bedside table was a plate, with a pathetic looking sandwich under a note that said ‘PB + Sugar’ with a heart under it. Mandy knew Mickey always had a sweet tooth and it was his favorite thing Iggy made them when they were younger. Sitting next to him on his bed, there was a folded towel, clean underwear and pajamas sitting on top of a clean folded sheet. Of course Ian already knew. He fucking knew everything. Mickey wiped his eyes and crawled out of bed, pulling his sheets with him and knocking the clean bedding and clothes to the floor. After he balled up the soiled sheets and tossed them into the closet, he grabbed the towel and pajamas, leaving his room and walking down the hall with his head down. Luckily nobody was there to see him and he slipped into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Once it was impossible for anyone to come in, he broke down, crying silently to himself as he clumsily stripped off his clothes and got into the shower. Turning off the cold water, he made sure the temperature was just a little too hot for comfort and stood under the spray. Absentmindedly, he grabbed the body wash and poured some into his hands, scrubbing his arms roughly before moving to his hands and digging under and around each chewed off nail to make sure he was as clean as he could possibly be. It only took a few minutes for his skin to turn bright red and for the heat to start feeling cold as it burned him. His breathing accelerated and he stepped away from the water and realized just how badly he was burning himself. The air around him felt ice cold and he began shivering, using his foot to turn the water off without stepping back into it. After he stepped out, he dried off and put on the clothes either Ian or Mandy left for him, stepping into the hall with his dirty clothes in his hands. His luck had him running straight into Ian, who looked at him with concern when he saw how red Mickey’s arms were.

“Iggy got you a journal." Ian blurted out, choosing not to mention Mickey's arms. "He said it’s so you can write shit out if you need to.” Mickey looked away and nodded. “Mandy said you started the bad ones today.” Mickey didn’t look at him. He felt the familiar sting coming to his eyes again. “I don’t know if you want me to stay the fuck away from you or stay close.” Neither did Mickey. The thought of anyone- including Ian- laying a hand on him both infuriated and disgusted him. The thought of Ian just being near him, however, didn’t. Mickey awkwardly looked at him.

“I don’t...” He cleared his throat and tried to make eye contact. For whatever reason, it was hard. “I don’t want anyone touching me.” He shook his head. “Not even them. I just don’t want to be touched right now.”

“No one’s gonna touch you. Not even a pat on the back, okay? I promise.” Mickey nodded.

“I know you’re all curious but... What he told me...” He shook his head when his voice cracked and he saw Ian’s body’s knee jerk reaction to hug him, which he fought back. “I threw up. I went to the bathroom and puked. It made me sick. I can’t talk about it right now.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t ever have to say anything to any of us, alright? That’s part of the reason Iggy got you the journal. He figured maybe it would be easier for you to write it down instead of saying it. And nobody’s gonna read it. You could leave it wide open on the kitchen counter and whoever find’s it is gonna close it and put it in your room without even looking, alright? If you ever only trust me about one thing, let it be that.” Mickey nodded.

“I gotta do laundry.” He muttered, wanting to change the subject.

“Do you want me to-”

“I gotta do it.” Mickey said, cutting him off. Ian nodded, backing off. “It’s either do something or sit in my room, staring at the wall. I know you guys wanna help, so if you just let me do it by myself, you’ll be helping. I just need to think. I need to be alone for a little while.” Ian nodded, showing no sign of being offended.

“Okay. I’m not gonna offer to help... Cause you know if you need it-”

“I know.” Ian nodded and awkwardly took a step back. Mickey turned to walk toward his room.

“Mick?” He stopped and turned to face Ian. “I don’t know, cause I didn’t ask them if you... Um...” Mickey stared at him. “I just know, with me, when I got really low I’d sometimes do stuff to myself- like hurt myself, and I just wanted to say if you feel like doing something like that... Can you just text me before you do? I know you don’t want to be bothered and maybe it’s never even crossed your mind, but if it does, and if you’re going to just... Please?” It hadn’t crossed Mickey’s mind. In fact, the hot water incident was the first time in his life that he deliberately did anything to hurt himself. He nodded to reassure Ian. “Thank you.” Ian reluctantly turned and walked out to the living room, leaving Mickey to go back to his room after stopping by the hall closet to grab a blanket for his bed. When he got to his room, he remade his bed before he gathered his dirty clothes and sheets. He picked up the sandwich Mandy had left and took a bite of it, appreciating it even though the bread had already started to get hard. Tossing the journal that was left on his bed in with his dirty laundry, he headed out, spending the next couple hours sitting cross legged on a dryer, writing every thought in his head. His hand only stopped moving when it was time to switch out his loads of laundry and after he did that, he hopped right back onto the dryer and continued writing. By the time everything had been washed and dried, he’d written five pages, front and back, of thoughts and information about what had happened that day, and everything else that was going through his head.

It was dark already when he began walking back to the apartment and he headed through the door, ignoring everyone in the kitchen as he went to his room. He couldn’t deny the fact that he felt better. It was like he’d spent hours just yelling everything out, but he hadn’t said a word. As he folded and hung his laundry, he couldn’t help but think about, and appreciate, Clint for the advice and Iggy for the journal. As his mind wandered from thought to thought about his brother, his therapist, what he had done to make himself feel better, what had caused him to feel bad, and everything else in his life, he found himself finishing his chore in record time. Tucking the journal under his pillow, he left his room. As luck would have it, Iggy was leaving the bathroom as Mickey passed it and he couldn’t help but hug him tightly, closing his eyes and just appreciating him for everything that he did, and for hanging around as he went through everything. Iggy hugged him back, not understanding why it was happening, and rubbed his hands up and down Mickey’s back, tightening his grip as he leaned his head toward his little brother’s ear.

“I took a shit and didn’t wash my hands.” He said quietly, rubbing Mickey’s back harder. Mickey smiled and shoved Iggy away roughly, laughing and shaking his head.

“You’re fucking gross.”

“I’m aware. Loverboy made some kind of weird gross looking gooey chicken and rice looking concoction for dinner if you want some.”

“What is it?” Iggy shook his head.

“I have no fucking idea, but I saw him empty a can of something into it and there’s, like, zero color or nutritional value to it so maybe it’s good.” Mickey nodded.

“Kind of rude not to try it, right?” Iggy shrugged.

“Nothing wrong with occasional rudeness, you know. We don’t have to put ourselves in danger to stroke his ego.” Mickey shook his head.

“It was cream of mushroom soup, you cocksucker. That’s all it fucking is. Shredded chicken in cream of mushroom soup poured over rice. You make it sound like I puked in the pan or something.” Ian yelled from the kitchen.

“It doesn’t present well.” Iggy yelled back.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Mickey smiled at the exchange and followed Iggy into the kitchen, where Ian was pouring the chicken/soup mix over mounds of rice. “You don’t even cook, so you can’t judge anyway.” Ian said.

“I never claimed to be able to cook, Rachael Ray, you’re the one in the kitchen acting like you know what you’re doing.”

“I never said I know what I’m doing, dick, I just thought I’d save everyone some fucking money and utilize what we already have to make dinner. If you don’t fucking want it, you don’t have to eat it. You can march your ass to the corner and buy yourself some orange chicken that's been sitting under a heat lamp for twelve hours. I don't give a fuck.” Neither of them raised their voices, and Mickey watched the exchange with amusement.

“I’ll eat it just so I can talk more shit, how about that?” Ian slid a bowl across the counter to Iggy.

“Be my guest.” Iggy gave Ian a death glare before taking his bowl to the table and sitting down. Afterward, Ian gave a bowl to Mandy, then Mickey and grabbed one for himself before joining them. By the time everyone was seated, Iggy was already halfway done with his food. “Fucking disgusting, huh?” Ian asked. Iggy slammed his fork back into the bowl.

“I’ll fucking dump it down the sink if you want. I happen to be starving. Dog shit would taste good to me.” He protested with his mouth full. Ian smiled and shook his head. The food was actually good, even if it did look like Ian had puked in a bowl, and all of them finished it pretty quickly, Iggy shamefully going for seconds. Once everyone was done, Mandy offered to do the dishes, which Mickey helped with. Ian and Iggy bickered their way into the living room, scanning through Netflix for something to watch while Mandy and Mickey watched them.

“I think they like each other, what do you think?” She asked, rinsing out a bowl.

“Oh, yeah. The black eyes and bruises are pretty much just friendship bracelets, right?” Mickey replied sarcastically. She smiled and handed him the bowl to put in the dishwasher.

“If they really hated each other, we’d know it. Neither of them are good at taking shit.” He nodded, knowing it was true. He knew his brother well, and if he didn’t like someone, they went away, one way or another.

“Oculus!” Ian said, pointing at the TV.

“No. Stupid.” Iggy replied.

“How do you know it’s stupid?”

“It’s about a fucking mirror, that’s how I know.”

“I want to watch it.” Ian said, a little louder.

“He kills his fucking sister. Happy? There’s the ending, he kills his sister. Big plot twist. The end.” Mandy and Mickey watched as Ian stared at Iggy in disbelief.

“You. Are a fucking asshole.” Iggy shrugged and kept clicking while Ian shook his head and looked back at the TV, defeated. Mickey smiled and continued helping his sister with the dishes. Once they were finished, Mandy headed to the living room and sat on the floor in front of the couch. Mickey followed, a little reluctant to join them, suddenly remembering how he’d felt about being around anyone earlier that day, but he ended up sitting down on the couch next to Ian, who leaned away a little to give him space. He wasn’t paying attention to anything that was being said by anyone as he watched the scrolling movies on the screen. He found himself thinking back about everything, feeling as if he should feel a certain way- like he should feel the same as he did in the morning when he’d found everything out, but he just didn’t. It was like his head was playing tricks on him- almost like he wanted to be upset, but couldn’t find it in himself. Time passed as he stared at the screen, getting more and more drowsy. When he woke up, he didn’t even remember falling asleep. He opened his eyes and he was leaning over with Ian’s arm around his shoulders. Sitting up, he looked around. Iggy was slumped down in his chair, staring at the TV with the remote in his hand, looking bored as hell. Mandy was asleep on the floor with Ian’s feet resting on her back, and Ian looked like he was seconds from passing out. Mickey looked down as Ian moved his arm away, as if he’d been doing something wrong. He hesitated, but ended up tugging the bottom of Ian’s shirt a couple times to get his attention. All it took was one look and Ian glanced at Iggy, who was now closing his eyes, before they both got up. Mickey led the way with Ian trailing behind. Once they got his room, Mickey kicked his shoes off, almost falling over, and Ian did the same. “I gotta get my pants.” Ian said, turning toward the door. Mickey pulled a hanger out of the closet and offered the clean plaid pajama pants to him, which he took. Once they both got dressed for bed, Mickey slid under the covers, leaving it to Ian to turn the light off. “You’re okay?” He asked, his hand on the switch as he looked at Mickey with concern.

“I’m okay.” Ian nodded and turned off the light, walking over to the bed, where Mickey held the blanket up. The fear of another accident floated around in Mickey’s head, but he wanted to take advantage of the calmness he felt thanks to the new form of therapy he was trying out. Once Ian slid under the blanket, he went to arrange his pillow. Mickey hadn’t remembered his journal until Ian pulled it out from under the pillow and, without missing a beat, reached over Mickey to tuck it under his instead. Something about the small gesture sent a warm feeling through his body, and Mickey stared at Ian as he settled down into bed. “Sorry I was weird earlier.” Ian smiled and looked at him.

“You weren’t weird, you were you.” Mickey tried to decipher Ian’s reply, which Ian seemed to notice. “You don’t get weird, Mick. Weird is like out of the ordinary, ‘oh my god what the fuck is this?’ kinda behavior. You? You’re just... You’re you at different levels- different times. You were post-’Oh fuck it must’ve been bad’ Mickey earlier. We all know to give you space when you go there.”

“So I’m not weird anymore?” Mickey asked, causing Ian to scoff.

“You’re fucking weird on steroids, but not with your emotions. They’re... You’re just you. Different yous, but all you.”

“What me am I now?” Ian smiled and looked at him.

“Cute tired question asking Mickey.” Mickey smiled back. “You said you’re okay?” Mickey wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him everything that happened, because he wanted him all the way there. He wanted him to know every bit of him so that he would be able to handle it all. He took a deep breath. It was easier in the dark, anyway.

“Three files.” He said. Ian reached down and grabbed Mickey’s hand, which he instinctively wanted to pull away, but fought the urge. Ian’s grip was tight, but not confining. It felt like if he squeezed a little harder, it would hurt, but he never crossed that line. “I already told you how bad.” Ian nodded and stared at the ceiling. Mickey wondered if it was to make him feel more comfortable. “They had me... I was seven and they had me put my arm in them... Passed my elbows. One was one man. Another was both arms with one man, the last was both arms with two men at the same time.” He was quiet for a minute. “I was writing. I kept writing non stop like Clint said and it all came out.I remembered what you said about skin growing back. Everything being new.” A small smile came to Ian’s mouth. “I wrote out my feelings about it. How these things always make me feel disgusting but this one hit me hard... I wrote about how I know it’s not the last of it cause I asked Clint if that was the only time and he said no, but I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to get out. I wrote out how humiliating it was that you knew I pissed the bed. How I appreciated the clothes and sheets, and Mandy’s sandwich... I kept appreciating things. I started writing about all of you and how bad I need all of you, and how that scares the shit out of me cause what if something happens and this all splits up? Then I’d wrote until it was all okay again. When I finished I felt okay. I felt like I’d shoved everything bad out of my body. It’s not pent up anymore.” He looked at Ian, who was staring at him. “I didn’t want any of you to come near me or talk to me and now I just don’t want to be alone cause I’m scared my head will go back there.” He didn’t know what else to say, and he hoped with everything in him that Ian did what he always seemed to do and calmed Mickey down with logic he hadn’t thought of.

“You don’t ever have to be alone.” Ian looked at him. “The whole bed wetting thing, Mick..” Mickey looked away. He didn’t want Ian to even know about it, let alone talk about it. “I know that’s the reason you’re scared to have me in here on bad nights, cause you think it’ll happen.” It was true. He knew when he was at his worst, and the best thing for him was to be close to someone, he didn’t want anyone close because he knew the odds of him waking up soaked were higher. “You have to believe me, okay? You have to trust that I’m telling you the truth and not trying to make you feel better. I don’t fucking care. I’m not gonna wake up angry or grossed out if it happens. I shared a bed with my little brother for years and he did the same thing. One time, he was actually slung over me in his sleep and didn’t even get it on the mattress, it was all on me. There’s no point getting upset. It just happens. You get up, you shower, you handle it.” Mickey still wouldn’t look at him. “It’s part of you.” Mickey looked at him, now. “It’s an unfortunate part, but those are the ones I want to be around for the most, because those are the ones where you need someone the most. If something’s so bad, you’re puking, I can be there if you want. Maybe someday, if I’m here and we’re in bed and wake up to that, you won’t be embarrassed, you’ll just accept it and accept help." Ian paused for a few seconds. “I don’t just want to be around for the good parts of you, Mick. I don’t want you thinking that’s all I want. I want you- the good and the bad. I want you to feel comfortable. With me, with you, with life... I know you need to be alone sometimes cause everyone does. I do, sometimes. But don’t go off alone because you’re embarrassed or you think you’re bothering anyone by asking them to just sit with you cause none of us are going to care.” Mickey nodded.

“So tonight?” He asked.

“I’m staying if you let me.” Mickey stared at him, somewhat in awe of the things he was saying.

“Have you been like this with all the guys you’ve been with?” Ian smiled.

“‘All the guys’?” He asked.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t. And no. I’ve never given a shit as much as I do now.” Mickey felt like he had no control over himself. One second he was staring at Ian, the next their lips were crashing together and his hand was gripping the back of Ian’s neck. He found himself leaning into his hand when he felt it cradling the side of his face. Ian slowly ended it, kissing Mickey one last time on his mouth before leaning back. They stared at each other for a minute before Ian pulled him closer and Mickey tucked his face under his chin, relaxing against him. He didn’t understand any of it. He didn’t understand how he could’ve gone from someone afraid to be in the same room as someone to someone who initiated a makeout session while lying in bed inside a dark room. He didn’t understand what he had done to make his sister’s friend feel the way he claimed to, or why anyone would want someone who had been so used and tainted. He didn’t understand how Ian said all the right things at all the right times, or why he was so compassionate. To him, none of it made sense, but in all reality, he hardly needed it to. He just needed it. He craved everything about Ian, which scared him. Whenever Ian spoke, Mickey soaked it up. He wanted him to keep talking because everything out of his mouth was soothing. It was like every time Ian opened his mouth, he was slowly mending all the broken down shit inside of him and every time he came home a little more damaged, Ian leveled him back out. He didn’t know how he managed to do it, but lately, he’d felt relief more times than he had his entire life before the whole thing with Ian had started, and it was a big deal. Whatever the two of them had going was a big fucking deal and Mickey couldn’t help but feel like there was going to be something someday that would somehow fuck it all up.


	18. Fall Back Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More files, be warned.
> 
> Also, we all needed this.

_"It takes disaster to learn a lesson_   
_You're gonna make it through the darkest night"_

-Rancid, "Fall Back Down"

The first thing Mickey noticed when he woke up was that the entire back of his body was pressed against the front of someone else’s, and the only thing he could find himself doing was tensing up. He had an arm slung over his shoulder and when he looked at the hand, he immediately knew it was Ian. It was still overwhelming and he stared at his hand for a few seconds before bringing his own fingers up and running them over Ian’s knuckles before lacing their fingers together. At some point during the night, Ian’s other arm had slipped under Mickey’s head, becoming a pillow for him to sleep on. Running his thumb across the palm of the hand he was holding, Mickey stared at the wall, relaxing with every exhale of warm breath that hit the back of his neck. It was hypnotic, relaxing, and comforting all at the same time and Mickey would’ve given anything to wake up like that every morning. The fact that the sheets were dry was an added bonus. He had no reason to immediately get up. He leaned back slightly, making Ian stir and moan in his sleep, pulling Mickey tighter against him and moving his hips forward against Mickey’s ass.

That could’ve ruined it. Anxiety washed over Mickey as he felt Ian’s body reacting to the friction, but he closed his eyes and began breathing slow, squeezing Ian’s hand a little tighter. Once he had calmed down, he noticed that Ian had as well and a small part of him was disappointed. He relaxed against Ian’s arm and played with his fingers lazily. His mind wandered and he began thinking about therapy and how he had to go again, and how that meant he would have to get out of bed, which meant the day was going to start out shitty. He wondered how they’d gotten in the position they were in and who initiated it. He wondered how the hell his bed could still be dry when he had Ian’s dick pressed against his ass. Then he thought about the fact that Ian’s dick was pressed against his ass. He didn’t put much thought into what he did next, but he felt Ian’s body tense as he moved his hips back and rubbed himself against him. He felt a heavy exhale against the back of his neck and he liked it. Maybe he was too tired to think of what was actually happening, or what he was doing, but he liked having so much power over Ian, even when he was sleeping. He moved his hips again, pressing his ass against Ian and moving it slightly. He kept himself pressed there, feeling Ian slowly getting hard again. The next time he moved his hips back, Ian sighed. Mickey wasn’t sure if he was awake yet, but he hadn’t moved his arms or legs. Mickey did it again and was shocked when Ian’s hips pressed forward slightly, meeting him in the middle. He’d started a lazy rhythm now, and a few seconds later, Ian bent his knee and ran his foot up Mickey’s leg. He let go of Mickey’s hand and slid his fingers up his chest to his shoulder, where he held onto him from behind. Mickey put his hand on top of Ian’s and closed his eyes as Ian took over and began grinding against his ass.

“Mick-”

“Keep going.” Mickey replied quietly. He was turned on. There was something about the desperate sounds Ian was making with his mouth occasionally biting at Mickey’s ear that gave him no other option but to slide his hand into his own pants and touch himself in time with Ian’s thrusts. He didn’t get very far before Ian pulled on Mickey’s shoulder and maneuvered himself so he was on top, looking down at him. Ian had him pinned and he waited for any sign of protest, but Mickey gave him nothing but an intense stare right back. Holding eye contact, Ian positioned himself between Mickey’s legs and ground against him slowly. Mickey closed his eyes and found comfort in Ian’s hands holding onto his. Ian moved at a slow but steady pace, rubbing himself against his crotch, letting him feel every inch of him as he moved. Mickey didn’t have it in him to analyze Ian’s dick, or try to get a visual of what it might look like. All he could focus on were the sounds of Ian’s ragged panting, the feel of his sweaty forehead burrowed into the side of his neck, and how hard Ian was squeezing his hand. When Ian began moving faster, Mickey snapped out of his daze and stared at the ceiling. It felt good. It was almost as good as the handjob Ian had given him, but he knew he was going to outlast Ian. Something about the desperation he was displaying told Mickey that he wasn’t going to last long. He pulled his hands free of Ian’s and reached down, sliding them up under his shirt. His skin was hot and smooth and his stomach was flexing with every thrust. Mickey pressed his hands against his abs and, feeling bold, moved his hands lower and around Ian’s midsection, deciding to just take the plunge, somewhat literally. He pushed his hands into the back of Ian’s pants, grabbing his bare ass as he dug down into Mickey. Ian moaned and Mickey held his hands there for a few thrusts, squeezing and rubbing his ass, relishing in the fact that his hands fit Ian’s body perfectly. He gave him one final squeeze and moved his hands to Ian’s hips. He never thought he would feel so at ease touching someone else’s body, but he did. He felt like he was allowed to do whatever he wanted, and it was when Ian began moving faster and making more noise that Mickey quickly slid his hand around the front of Ian’s pants and took hold of his dick, forcing a somewhat loud cry out of him. “Shhh!” He began stroking him, doing to him what he liked done to himself, trying to quickly build up to the pace Ian had set for himself while fighting off the panic he felt rising from his stomach. The feeling of Ian's dick in his hand woke something up in him- that familiar feeling like he'd done it before. The gross phantom memories he was working so hard to remember. But it was Ian. This wasn't a stranger's body, it was Ian's. He looked up at him.

“Did you just shush me- Fuck-” Ian whispered. Mickey stared up at him the entire time, watching his facial expressions, feeling prideful when the corner of Ian’s mouth curved up into a half smile before his lips would fall open and then he’d bite his lip to stay quiet.  It was something to focus on so he could avoid the urge to shove Ian away. He felt guilt for thinking about stopping, even though he didn't actually stop. He knew if he did- if he gave into the panic he felt- Ian would say it was okay. He knew he'd roll off the bed and go to the bathroom to finish himself off. He knew there'd be no backlash to giving up on what he was doing and fall back into his comfort zone, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to keep falling backward, and more than that, he wanted to do what he was doing. He wanted to give back to Ian in whatever way he could, keeping in mind the last time something like this had happened with Mickey on the receiving end. Ignoring the outcome, He thought back to how good it felt physically and it made him happy that Ian was feeling the same thing, and it was because of him. It gave him a sense of satisfaction and he kept his mind on that. Ian grabbed Mickey's chin, gently turning his head so they were looking at each other again. "Talk to me." Mickey was confused. He had absolutely no experience dirty talking and he wasn't so sure he'd be able to do it with a straight face. "You're thinking of something, Mick, talk to me." He clarified. Mickey blushed, embarrassed about his assumption about what Ian wanted. He shook his head.  
  
"I'm good. I don't want to talk." He wrapped his free hand around the back of Ian’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. It wasn’t one of their slow, sweet makeout kisses. Ian moaned into Mickey’s mouth and dragged his teeth over his bottom lip before plunging his tongue deep into Mickey’s mouth. There was no caution. Ian didn’t have the ability to be coherent enough to ask if Mickey was okay, but he knew he was. Mickey was in control and it gave him a sense of power he hadn’t ever felt before. When Ian stopped kissing back, Mickey stared up at him and moved his hand faster. It happened pretty quickly after that. Ian’s breathing became erratic, he closed his eyes and leaned down, burying his face in the side of Mickey’s neck, and came, moaning against his skin. His body flinched and Mickey slowed down, unaffected by the mess that was now all over his hand as he ran his fingers over the entirety of Ian’s dick, taking the opportunity to explore while he could. Ian lifted his head and Mickey pulled him back down, kissing his throat and massaged him slowly and gently to bring him down. Once he was sure Ian was done, he moved his wet hand to his hip, reminiscent of the time Ian had done the same to him, and he leaned up to kiss him. It was slow this time. It was reassuring and comforting and it felt like Ian was putting everything he had into it. It meant something. Ian pulled back and moved slightly so he wasn’t fully on top of Mickey when he collapsed from the exhaustion his limbs felt from the excitement. He kept one leg draped over Mickey’s and he took his shirt off to wipe Mickey’s hand off without saying a word. He rested his head on Mickey’s shoulder and reached his arm over his stomach. Mickey slid his fingers through Ian’s hair, pushing it out of his face. He kissed him one more time on the forehead and looked up at the ceiling. He felt Ian’s hand move down, heading toward his crotch and he stopped him, pulling his arm back up. Ian didn’t question it, not knowing if Mickey was about to snap, or if he was growing more and more uncomfortable. Most of Mickey’s discomfort was physical, and it probably would’ve been best if he’d let Ian do what he was going to do, but he didn’t want to disturb what they were doing. He didn’t want to move.

The anxiety that seemed to have been fading through everything they’d just done seemed to be growing slightly inside him, but it wasn’t gathering much steam. Ian’s fingers lazily running up and down his side took all his attention, and it was hard to even attempt to think about anything else.

“The fuck was that?” Ian asked, causing the smile on Mickey’s face to grow as he began laughing. “I was trying to sleep.” Mickey shook his head, unable to respond. He was just happy that it happened, and it wasn’t ruined by his head running wild. He might’ve been putting too much thought into it, but the fact that he could only focus on Ian through it wasn’t something that slipped by unnoticed. Perhaps he was being naive and getting ahead of himself, but-

 

* * *

 

“I want to have sex with Ian.” Clint stopped writing in Mickey’s file and looked up at him slowly. Mickey’s leg bounced up and down rapidly, which was a habit he and both of his siblings had when they were nervous. He bit his lip. “This morning we messed around and I managed to get through it alright. I think I can handle it.”

“Who got messed around on this morning?” Clint asked.

“Ian.”

“You did what?” Mickey suddenly felt shy. He didn’t know whether to describe what was done or use the more graphic descriptions for their actions.

“He actually did most of the work I just woke him up.”

“How did you wake him up?” Clint pressed. Mickey’s face got hot and he took a breath. “Mickey, you want to know one of the things I was taught about sex when I was younger?” Mickey nodded. “If you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it.” Mickey nodded.

“Dry humping and a handjob.” He blurted out reluctantly.

“You gave him a handjob?” Mickey nodded. Clint wrote something down in Mickey’s file.

“You’re really gonna have to let me read that someday. You write things down at the weirdest times.”

“You can read it whenever you want. Mickey-” He put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not trying to patronize you, so if I come across that way, stop me.” Mickey nodded. “A handjob and sex are in no way on the same level.”

“I know that. I was just saying that when it was happening, I felt like shit. I was getting worked up and panicking but I managed to stop it and enjoy myself.”

“And that’s progress on it’s own. That’s something to be extremely proud of, alright? It’s not easy, but you did it, which means you’re improving. I’m not discrediting what you’ve accomplished, okay? Not at all, but you had your hand down his pants.” Mickey nodded. “Depending on your preference, Mickey, sex can be either really invasive, or extremely invasive. I’m not telling you this to discourage you. Your actions are completely up to you. One hundred percent. I’m just trying to put things into perspective.” Mickey nodded and Clint sat back, raising his eyebrows. “It’s something that people who have never been through anything traumatic need to mentally prepare themselves for. People who have already had sex- people who have it regularly- can and do still get nervous and anxious before, during, and after. That’s under ‘normal’ circumstances.” He accentuated his words with air quotes. “Your head works a million miles per minute. Your thoughts bounce around like a god damned ferret on Mountain Dew.” Mickey laughed and shook his head, amused by the comparison. “You could be fine one second, and half a second later, be at your worst. No amount of therapy can change that possibility, all that can be done is how you deal with it. How to see it coming, what to do when it happens, things like that. What I’m getting at, and what I want you to do, is think of yourself first. Think of your mental wellbbeing, and put it above Ian, above sex, above everything. When it comes to that, offending or disappointing people doesn’t matter. You matter. Considering what you’ve been through, sex has the ability to fuck you up bad, alright? I don’t have any medical terms strong enough to make my point. I’m not going to ask you to make me any promises like a concerned mother, alright? I’m just advising you to think hard before you act, and to understand when enough is enough. Pushing forward doesn’t mean shit if attempting to do so sets you back ten steps.”

Mickey stared at him. He fucking hated him for always making so much sense. Part of him felt embarrassed for being so enthusiastic about what he wanted to do. He felt like he got shot down.

“Talk to me.” Clint said. Mickey shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“I walked in here 100% confident that I could go through with it, then you go and talk for a couple minutes and now I feel like I didn’t make any progress.”

“Mickey, any time you feel anxious, depressed, or scared, and you overcome it in a healthy way, you’ve made progress, and every single bit of it counts. How many times have you been intimate with Ian?”

“Define intimate.”

“Orgasms.”

“Twice.” Mickey said quietly.

“Including this morning?” Mickey nodded. “He got you off, you got him off. One time each. People go for months and even years sticking to what you two have done before they have sex. He doesn’t seem like the type to just get bored and leave. I don’t think there’s a reason to rush things.”

“What if he is the type to get bored and leave?” Mickey asked. Clint shrugged his shoulders.

“Then you continue working on yourself, you continue making progress, and you eventually find someone else. As painful as it may seem, that’s life. When I was 14, I was going to marry my old babysitter. That was my life goal cause she had great boobs and made killer grilled cheese. It didn’t happen, so I found someone else with great boobs. When I fucked that up, I moved on to another girl with okay boobs but a great personality. It’s a cycle. A constantly moving cycle that you gotta learn to maneuver through. There may be only one person on this planet for you, Mickey. You could grow old with that person and die in a nursing home with them. If your relationship doesn’t work out, they were not that one person. Maybe you found your death partner, maybe you didn’t. You won’t know til your relationship ends or you’re both dead.” Mickey stared at him.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you have a therapist, Clint? Cause there’s some fucked up shit going through your head.”

“It’s a proven fact that a high percentage of Psych majors are getting into the field to deal with their own issues. Nobody’s perfect, but I have a way with words.” Mickey smiled.

“You do.” He sat back and enjoyed the silence for a minute before laying eyes on a small stack on Clint’s desk. He pointed to them. “Elephant in the room?” He asked. Clint nodded and pulled them closer.

“Yep. You wanna ease into it or dive into it?”

“Might as well dive.” Mickey said, shrugging his shoulders. Clint nodded and opened the folder on top.

“Deep breath, then.” He muttered. Mickey found himself obeying Clint’s joking remark, breathing in deep through his nose, and letting out through his mouth as he counted to ten. “Nine years old.” Clint began. Mickey’s eyes made their way to the floor as they usually did when Clint started reading. “The video is a half hour long, it’s from the neck down but they identified you by a birthmark on your left hip.” Mickey nodded. “Do you remember early on when I mentioned a man named Christian Wallace?” Mickey thought back through all the horrible crap they’d gone over. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t put the name to whatever act he performed. He nodded anyway. “They identified him in the video. He puts a bar between your knees and ties it to them to part your legs. Your hands are behind your back and you’re laying on them. There’s a belt around your waist, holding you to the table. It says you struggle and cry and there’s a note that says your voice is muffled, like you’ve been gagged. He fondles you and puts his fingers in you. He later removes his fingers and replaces them with a sex toy, leaving it there. the rest of the video is him getting undressed.” Mickey didn’t move as Clint slid another file in front of himself, opening it. “The next video is a continuation, but the camera angle switches from the stable camera above you to a handheld that focuses, in an extreme closeup, on the toy being removed and immediately replaced by Wallace’s penis as he begins raping you. It goes on to say that within thirty seconds, the camera pans out and you’re in a stoic state, not responding or struggling.”

“Checked out.” Mickey said quietly. Clint nodded and shut the file.

“Checked out.” He reiterated. Mickey nodded. It was strange to listen to something describing how instantaneous his episodes really were. How one minute he was alert and fighting and the next, a single action shut him down and it was like he was passed out, but awake at the same time. He never thought of being grateful for the memory loss until he heard Clint read the file. “What are you thinking?” Mickey wiped his eyes, realizing he was crying when he looked up at Clint and saw nothing but cloudy blurs.

“I’m happy about the memory thing. About losing them.” He shook his head. “Not that I don’t need to know now, but I’m glad I didn’t have all this shit in my head when I was a kid. I’m glad I didn’t have to remember it. I don’t think I could live with all this when I was little.” Clint nodded.

“Which is why your mind shuts down, remember? That’s the entire purpose- and, yes, it has a purpose. The memory loss is a sort of Band-Aid. It covers up all the bad shit so you can keep going.”

“So I’m ripping off a Band-Aid?” Mickey asked, smiling.

“A very big, complicated, heartbreaking Band-Aid.” Clint stared at him, which he didn’t really do all that often. “Are you bottling it in?” Mickey looked at him and wiped his eyes, sniffing.

“No. No, I’m just kinda numb to it, you know?” he asked, sitting back. “It’s like... I’ve just tried to tell myself no matter how bad it gets, it’s gonna keep getting worse til it’s over, and then when it’s done, it’s done. Maybe more happened to me, but this is it. All I can do is just let it in and feel it like I’m supposed to.”

“What are you feeling?”

“Angry. Violent. Like if it was possible to kill him, I would. I don’t think I would think twice about it.”

“Well, someone beat you to it cause he died in prison.”

“Because of me?” Clint shook his head.

“Possibly. He was busted for child porn three years after this video. Pedophiles don’t do well in prison. They actually separate them from general population but sometimes accidents happen.” Clint said it with such nonchalance that it didn’t even seem like they were talking about someone being murdered. “I have four more. Same act, different ages.” Mickey nodded, giving permission before he ducked his head down. “Ages are 7, 7, 10, and 12. Two men in each video, one forcing you to perform oral while the other rapes you at the same time. In one of them, you’re gagged until you throw up, that one ends at that point. The others end when the men finish either on or in you.” Mickey nodded.

“Just rape, rape, rape, huh?” Clint shut the files and pushed them aside, nodding.

“Each one with a new disgusting twist.” He said, his voice dull and sarcastic. Mickey wiped his eyes again. Despite trying to have a positive, somewhat carefree attitude about everything, he still felt sick. However, he found that he was more sad than anything. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like he had been through any of it. It felt like he was being told about some other kid and all the abuse he went through and it made him feel depressed. It was like having empathy for himself.

“It doesn’t feel like it was me. None of that is ringing any bells.”

“It might when you get into more sexual exploration. I hate to put a damper on any of your aspirations, but it’s something you need to be aware of. There may be a touch, the feeling of a part of your body- or his, something he says, something he does, a smell or sound, anything could be a trigger and you won’t know until it happens. That’s why we need to constantly be working on coping mechanisms. You may not be able to avoid triggers, but you can learn to deal with them.” Mickey understood everything better then. He understood how valuable the free association crap that Clint suggested was, especially since it had worked after his previous visit. It was a coping mechanism that worked. He didn’t know if letting it out verbally would work, or if it was even possible, but the writing seemed to purge everything from his mind. He wondered if he should just get his thoughts out at the end of every night, even if he wasn’t having problems.

“Is it possible to trigger myself?” Clint looked at him. “Like if I’m writing everything, and my thoughts are going around and I keep going and writing can something eventually come out that sets me off?” Clint seemed to honestly consider it, as if he hadn’t thought of it before. The immature side of Mickey was proud for seeming to have stumped him.

“I can see that happening, but at the same time, if you’re writing it all out nonstop, the thought would come up and you’d start the process of getting everything about it out on paper, thus addressing the issue and potentially resolving it.” Damn. He made sense of things again. “Did writing work?” Mickey nodded.

“Yesterday it was bad. I went to my room, fell asleep, pissed the bed and when I woke up I wrote down like ten pages of crap and after, everything felt... Like, lighter?” He asked, as if he needed Clint to make sense of that as well. “I felt like I should be upset, and there were a few times I tried to be upset, but I wasn’t. I was on edge, kind of scared of being scared if that makes sense.”

“Makes perfect sense.” Clint assured. Mickey nodded.

“Yeah but it all worked out. I was okay after that.” Clint smiled.

“So there’s something you can keep testing out. Hopefully it wasn’t just a one time thing and it continues to help.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Mickey asked. Clint pointed to the bookshelf behind his desk. It was packed with books of all different sizes.

“I read all of those. Every fucking one. I know what I’m doing. We’ll figure this shit out, alright?” Something about it made Mickey feel better. He smiled and nodded, confident that Clint was right. Confident and hoping he was right, if it was even possible to do both at once.

“Alright.”


	19. Orphans

_"I keep waiting for my breath_  
_To come back never_  
_So take what I have left"_

_-Jack's Mannequin, "Orphans"_

 

 

When Mickey got home, it was to noise coming from the hall.

“Lift!” He followed the sound of Ian’s voice and found him and Mandy rearranging Ian’s newly set up bedroom in what used to be the office. Part of Mickey was upset that Ian had his own room now, but another part of him was relieved that there would be little less guilt if he needed to be alone.

“Better late than never?” Mickey asked. Ian shrugged his shoulders.

“I tend to put things off. Sue me.” Mickey hadn’t noticed Ian’s clothes until then.

“What are you all dressed up for?”

“His new fancy office job.” Mandy mocked.

“It’s a room that used to be used for VIP handjobs. I’m having a hard time thinking of it as an office.” Ian shot back. Mickey stared at him, wondering to himself how much of what Ian talked about he’d actually done, and then he realized he didn’t want to know. He already knew that Ian had sold himself, but that had been an act of desperation. The club was a place where he still worked and Mickey would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried.

“Mickey!” He jumped at the sound of his sister’s voice and looked at her. “Fuck, man, you gotta stop doing that.”

“Trying.” He glanced at Ian, who was staring at him, looking concerned.

“You going?” Mandy asked.

“Where?”

“It’s apparently ‘Bring Your Bitch To Work Day’ at the gay bar.” He looked at Ian, who shrugged.

“I don’t...” He shook his head. The thought of actually seeing where Ian worked terrified him. At this point, ignorance was bliss, and he’d painted a very PG-13 portrait of the club Ian worked at to soothe his nerves every time he went there.

“It doesn’t open til 8 tonight. Nobody’s gonna be there but the janitors and the behind the scenes people.” It still made him nervous, but he nodded. He simply couldn’t handle disappointing Ian. “Okay. You ready? I’m gonna leave in like fifteen minutes.”

“Do I need to get dressed up or...”

“No. I just didn’t know if you were ready to go or if you needed to relax for a bit. Cause I can go in a little later, it’s okay.”

“No, I’m ready.” Ian nodded and Mickey left to go to his room so he could relax until Ian was ready to go. He let his head hit the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, his mind starting to wander. He pictured Ian dancing at a club where he’d for sure be wearing next to nothing. He thought about the fact that Ian was a very outgoing, social person, and he probably had a lot of friends at the club. He probably acted a lot different. Maybe he’d vented to his coworkers about their relationship.

“Mickey?” He jumped, but stayed on his back. “Sorry.” Ian walked in and closed the door behind him. Mickey felt sick. The thoughts that had started going through his head were filling him with anxiety. “Hey. What’s wrong? More files?” Mickey nodded, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. Ian sat down next to him. “Are you gonna be-”

“How much do you do when you’re at work?” He asked quietly. Ian stared at him.

“What do you mean?” Mickey glanced at him.

“Do you... Like, go further than dancing?” Ian didn’t move, which made Mickey feel worse. His stomach turned and he looked away.

“I have, but not since-”

“Since we’ve been together?” Mickey asked, cutting him off.

“Since I was 19.” Ian spoke as if he was confused, like he didn’t understand why Mickey was bringing it up.

“What about your coworkers? The other guys there-”

“I don’t know what they do, that’s kinda what I’m hoping to change.”

“Have you been with them?” When Ian didn’t answer, Mickey looked over at him and saw that he looked somewhat angry. It wasn’t something Mickey was used to, nor did he know how to handle it, so he stared back.

“What are you getting at?”

“You work at a place where it’s normal to have rooms for handjobs.” He said, pointing out what he perceived as “the obvious”.

“And I’m with you.”

“But you’re not getting anything from me.” He must’ve struck a nerve because he saw something flicker in Ian’s eyes. His expression changed from confused, to angry, to sad, and though he didn’t understand what he’d done or said wrong, Mickey felt bad. Ian raised his eyebrows and looked away.

“Okay... Um... I don’t know if you had a rough morning or something... Maybe therapy went bad, I don’t know cause you’re not saying anything about it, but what’s making it’s way through your head and out of your mouth kinda sucks.” He could tell Ian was holding back and he appreciated it. He felt like he’d crossed a line, but the little bit of pride he did have wouldn’t let him apologize or take anything back. Not yet, at least. “So, I’m gonna go sit at the computer in my gross ‘office’ at the pervy club I work at so I can pay rent. If you want to make sure I don’t have a dick crammed down my throat at any time, feel free to FaceTime me or something.” And with that, Ian turned and walked out of the room. It was at that point that Mickey understood what he had done wrong, and why Ian was upset. He’d basically accused Ian of sleeping around and he didn’t have to be an expert on relationships to know that wasn’t okay. He got up to follow Ian but he heard the front door close a little harder than in usually did and sat back down, adding guilt to his panic, jealousy, and sickness that he’d come home with from therapy. He didn’t say anything when Mandy walked in, he just let her sit next to him. Neither of them spoke for a minute.

“Apologize.”

“I’m going to.”

“No, now. Get your phone out right now and tell him you’re sorry. He’s as batshit crazy as you are. He doesn’t need this going around in his head on his first day in his office.” Mickey nodded and watched his sister leave. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths before grabbing his phone and scrolling through the recent call list to find Ian’s name. Once he pushed it, he held the phone to his ear and waited. With every ring, he grew more worried, and when it went to voicemail, he felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He waited for the robotic voice to finish talking and listened to the beep, finding that he had tons to say, but no idea how to say it. Rather than rambling, he hung up and walked out of his room. Grabbing his keys, he left the apartment, ignoring his sister’s questions.

It took one quick Google search and twenty minutes of traffic for him to pull up outside the club. If it hadn’t been for the sign, Mickey wouldn’t have thought he had the right place, though he wasn’t really sure what he expected in the first place. Pulling out his phone, he opened his messages and stared at Ian’s name, scared of what could happen. He decided finally that he’d come as far as he did and it was better to show that he was sorry and get rejected than to act like a dick and pretend like he didn’t know he was wrong.

_I’m outside._

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, counting to himself. It wasn’t necessarily a technique he’d been taught, but it was something to do that kept his head going in a straight line. The vibration of his phone made him stop and he looked down at the message he’d received.

_???_

For some reason, the fact that Ian hadn’t even used actual words hurt, mainly because there was no way of over analyzing what he was trying to say. Instead of saying anything else, Mickey held his phone up and snapped a picture of the club’s sign and sent it, continuing with his counting right after. He worried that Ian would tell him to go home more than anything. He didn’t want to go home without fixing what he’d done.

“Mickey!” He opened his eyes and looked to his right, seeing Ian peeking out of the building. It was enough to send him into a panicked frenzy and he rushed to get everything situated, making sure he had his keys, phone, and wallet before opening his door, only to forget that he still had his seatbelt on. He unbuckled himself, pushed the button to lock all the doors, and got out, awkwardly walking up to Ian, who ushered him inside. There weren’t any words exchanged. Ian didn’t even tell him to follow, he just assumed he would.. Mickey kept his head down, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he saw one of Ian’s coworkers. He was terrified of the competition he now felt he had, despite not being given any reason to.

Ian’s office was nicer than he’d led on. It wasn’t just some back corner broom closet. It was big and one of the walls was simply one giant window overlooking the club. His desk was facing it, though he wouldn’t be able to see what was going on below if he was sitting down since it was against the opposite wall. In the middle of the room, there were two couches back-to-back- one facing Ian’s desk and the other facing the window, the latter having a very modern looking glass and metal coffee table in front of it. There were plants, end tables, chairs, and even a mini bar in the room as well. Part of Mickey felt jealous that he didn’t have the office.

“This is nicer than I thought it would be.” He said, sitting down on the couch as Ian made his way to his desk and sat down, looking around.

“Yeah, same here. Turns out there’s a gigantic step between management and other employees here. I’m not sure I like it.”

“You should like it. Look what you get.” Ian nodded, but didn’t say anything even though he looked like he had a million things going through his mind. “I’m sorry.” Mickey blurted out. He glanced at Ian to find him staring. “I freaked out and I’m sorry. I know it might seem like I’m just saying it to say it, but I’m not.” Ian leaned back and began turning his chair back and forth slowly.

"This is my first day doing a job that'll make it possible to make tons more money than I'd be making grinding on old men and all I’m gonna be doing 90% of the time is sitting behind a computer desk. It's a fucking break for me, Mickey, and it’s really important. I need this job, alright? Is that okay?" Mickey stared at him and Ian waited for a response. When he got nothing, he shook his head. "What the fuck, Mickey? Everything was fine so what's the problem?" He seemed genuinely confused and frustrated, practically begging for an explanation to a question he couldn’t even comprehend an answer to.

"The handjob comment.” Mickey explained, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He shrugged and started picking at his nails as if he was in therapy. “You were so casual about it.”

"Well that's because handjobs are casual sometimes." Ian informed, causing Mickey to look at him in disbelief.

"Casual handjobs, really?"

"Yeah let's eat dinner at the table tonight and I'll show you." Normally, Mickey would laugh and mull over the idea of what Ian was suggesting for far longer than he should, but he was frustrated.

"I'm serious."

"First, so am I, and second, when people walk into a place like this- which is basically selling sex, a handjob is nothing. People walk in horny, and when you're horny, and you're surrounded by horny people, and there's sweaty bodies grinding against you, a handjob isn't a big deal. Have I done it here? Yes. For free? No. Ask me what position I was in the last time I did something like that." Mickey didn't say anything, he just stared. "I was 19- like I said- living at home with five other kids. My mom, who is usually gone and should stay that way, slit her wrists over Thanksgiving dinner. So I came to work and did what I could to make extra cash so my sister could stay home with my little brothers and sister because they were traumatized. I don't go to Target, see some video games I want but can't afford, and come here to suck dick for them, Mickey, and this job- this shitty desk job? This is one step higher than I was, which means it's one step closer to having any amount of pull here and fixing this place so people in positions like I was in don't have to do what I did. I don't want to work in a whorehouse, alright? But I'm 24 with a GED and a criminal record. I have to do what I have to do and take what I can get, when I can get it. And I know it's hard for you cause you think I'm gonna do it again but I'm not. I can't make you believe that, but I need you to fucking try cause I can't feel guilty knowing you're at home stressing out and going crazy over it every time I walk out the door to come here. These people- they’re customers. They pay to see a show and we give it to them. I don’t walk out there, find a guy I wanna fuck, climb into his lap, and fall in love, alright? They’re fucking annoying. They’re gross, vulgar perverts with deep pockets, that’s it. I don’t want you thinking you’ve got anything to worry about cause you don’t. I don’t want you thinking you’ve gotta up your game and speed things along, either. Don’t tell me I’m not getting anything from you and think I come here to get off. I come here to get paid, and that’s it. I’m friends with my coworkers because a lot of them are in the same situations I’ve already been in and we need a fucking support system, alright? Yes, this job can be fun, but mostlly, it sucks. There’s no competition for you, alright? You don't have to do anything to make yourself worthwhile cause you already are. So don't put your hands on me for any reason other than you wanting to. That's not what I'm in this for.” Mickey stared at him for a few seconds before nodding. It made him feel better to hear Ian say what he was saying. Another wave of guilt washed over him when he realized that what he was scared of was basically being eliminated by Ian’s new job, which he was also giving him shit about. He realized it probably felt horrible to get something as great as Ian was getting- with an office and everything- and get nothing but suspicion from his boyfriend.

“I don’t know what else to say besides I’m sorry.” He responded honestly. Ian simply shook his head.

“I don’t want you to say anything else. I just want you to mean that and let this be over.” Mickey nodded.

“I mean it.” Ian bit his lip.

“You can come here any time. Even if I’m not here, for whatever reason. If you want to go to the bar and sit just to watch how things work, you can.”

“I don’t think I’d be comfortable. Not yet.”

“Well you can come to work with me whenever.” Mickey couldn’t help but smile.

“Tried that before. It didn’t really last long.” Ian laughed a little and nodded.

“Yeah that was kind of a lost cause, huh? I think Linda forgot you even existed.” Mickey looked away and they were quiet for a minute. “How was therapy?” Mickey looked at him and shook his head. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s just... It’s not gonna get any better. Just keeps getting worse.”

“Do you keep getting worse?” Ian asked. It was something Mickey had to think about. He wasn’t really sure what the answer to the question was.

“Both? I don’t know. I feel worse every time he tells me something, but I feel like I’m learning how to handle it. I’m constantly scared, though. I don’t want to go back because I’m scared he’ll tell me something I won’t be able to handle.”

“Scared of being scared?” Ian asked, smiling. Mickey nodded, smiling back.

“Story of my life lately.” Another bit of silence fell over the room and Mickey looked at the computer. “What are you doing?” He saw something change in Ian’s eye and he suddenly seemed excited.

“They want me to write up a cross-training schedule.”

“Cross training?” Mickey asked, getting up. He walked around the desk and looked at the screen. When he did, his heart fell a little and the guilt that was threatening him on the sidelines took a headfirst dive into his chest and took over. Taped to the side of his computer screen was a small picture. It was him and Ian sitting on the couch in the living room. Mickey was leaning on Ian, who had his arm around him. They were both sleeping in it and he knew it was from the night before. “Where’d you get that?” He asked.

“Iggy took it and sent it to me. I just printed it out and put it up. Is it too creepy?” Mickey saw the remnants of the paper Ian had cut the photo from sitting next to the printer.

“No it’s not.” He leaned over the back of Ian’s chair, letting him go over the schedule he was writing up, listening to him explaining how they wanted every employee to be able to do every job, but none of it really grabbed his attention. His mind was too focused on the fact that he and Ian had been fighting- that he had hurt Ian and offended him, yet he still came to work and, in the midst of his frustration, he’d printed out a photo of them together and put it up on his computer. He wondered how strong Ian’s feelings for him were if he did something that loving after he’d just been hurt. He thought about how strong his feelings must be when everything was going well. and he jumped when he felt Ian’s hand on his face. “What?” Within a second, he felt himself crying and he turned his head away from Ian’s hand to wipe his own cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked, getting up from his chair. Mickey shook his head and smiled.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes again before hugging Ian tightly. “Nothing’s wrong I’m sorry.” Ian didn’t ask any more questions, he just hugged him back until his deep, even breaths calmed him down and he stopped crying. After that, he looked at the screen again and asked Ian to go over his work one more time so he could actually pay attention to him, which Ian did. The more he talked about what he wanted to help do with the club, the better Mickey felt about him working there. There was still a bit of worry floating around in Mickey, though it wasn’t any kind of fear that Ian would do something wrong. He had scared himself with the way he let his mind run crazy. He realized how quickly things escalated and how much his words could affect Ian and it scared the shit out of him.


	20. Schizophrenic Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the nice comments. They make my day.

_"So crawl inside my head with me_  
I'll show you how it feels to be  
Fucked up like me  
I'll show you how it feels to be  
To blame like me  
Ashamed like me"

_-Staind, "Schizophrenic Conversations"_

 

That night, after devouring the four pack of burgers and fries that Iggy brought home, Ian and Mickey went to Ian’s new room to finish unpacking all of his stuff. With only a few boxes left, they would be done before it was time for them to go to bed. The last box that Mickey got contained stacks of framed photos. He looked through them before putting them up anywhere. One was of Ian and his older brother- a dopey eyed blond guy. Ian had mentioned this one- Lip, he called him- being some sort of genius. The next photo was a candid shot someone took of Ian from behind. He was in his swim trunks with a little boy on his shoulders. Mickey guessed he must’ve been the baby Ian took. The next was a family photo which contained everyone mentioned before along with a skinny blue eyed kid with braces who dressed like he belonged on 8 Mile, a girl in her early teens who had yet to lose her baby fat, and a skinny brunette with wild curly hair. Ian’s finger ran down the line.

“Lip, Me, Liam, Carl, Debbie, Fiona.” He took the picture and put it up on the table next to his bed. They arranged the rest of the photos, hanging some on already hammered in nails. Once they were finished, they broke down the empty boxes and shoved them in the closet to take down to the dumpsters in the morning. Mickey sat on Ian’s bed, watching him pick up little shreds of newspaper.

“Can we try going further tonight?” He blurted out, not looking away from him. Ian turned his attention to Mickey and crumbled the trash he’d picked up in his hand. He opened his mouth to talk and both of them jumped at the sound of pounding on his door.

“Yeah?” Ian called. Mandy opened the door and poked her head in.

“Gay bar. Half price drinks and a drag show til 2am. You guys in?”

“No.” Ian and Mickey said in unison. She took a second and raised her eyebrows, the realization of what she might’ve barged in on dawning on her.

“Shit, sorry.” She quickly closed the door and they listened as she hustled around in the kitchen, her voice low. After an unmistakable “fucking gross” from Iggy, the front door closed and there was silence. Ian and Mickey looked back at each other, neither of them speaking. Mickey bit his lip nervously and dropped his head, staring down at the carpet.

“Define ‘further’.” Ian said, causing Mickey to look up.

“Don’t make me, you know what I mean.” He said quietly. Ian shook his head.

“I’m not trying to pry the words out of you, Mickey. I mean how much further do you wanna go? Like do you wanna get naked and take a shower? You want me to go down on you?”

“Yeah.” Mickey said. Ian raised his eyebrows.

“That much farther, huh?” Mickey nodded. “You sure?”

“As sure as I can be. I feel like..." He struggled to find an appropriate word, but it came to him. “Stagnant. And don’t ask if it has anything to do with what just happened, cause it doesn’t. I don’t want to go further because I feel like I have to, I just want to.” Ian nodded.

“Whatever you wanna try, we can try. Just remember how to deal with shit if it doesn’t work out. Mandy and Iggy aren’t here, you know? It’s just you and me so-”

“I know.” Ian nodded and Mickey noticed that even he looked a bit nervous.

“You hungry?” He asked. Mickey couldn’t help but crack a small smile, amused at how flustered Ian seemed to be getting.

“We just ate.” He reminded, causing Ian to shrug.

“So?” Mickey shook his head.

“No, I’m not hungry.” Ian nodded and looked around. Mickey did the same and wondered if they should do whatever they ended up doing back in his room, since it was more familiar to him. Ian’s room still wasn’t very comfortable. Even thought it had been a room everyone used before Ian moved in, as a bedroom, it was still new. He really couldn’t imagine waking up there. Even the thought of it made him nervous. Glancing at the alarm clock Ian had next to his bed, Mickey saw that it was almost eight o’clock and he suddenly felt worried that they didn’t have enough time for him to get comfortable, then into the mood, then the actual act- it was already nerve racking.

“Mick?”

“Hmm?” He looked back at Ian.

“You’re zoning out again.” Mickey shook his head.

“It’s not bad zoning, I’m just thinking.” Ian smiled.

“Care to share?” Mickey shook his head.

“I should shower.” He said, standing up. He glanced at Ian and saw him smiling.

“Alright. Let me know when you wanna do it.” Ian said. Mickey nodded and looked at the door.

“Does it feel forced? This way, I mean, the way we do these things. Planning it out and whatnot?” Ian appeared to be thinking for a few seconds before he shook his head.

“We’re testing the waters, Mickey. If you’re more comfortable someday, none of it will be so planned, it’ll just kinda happen.” He explained.

“I hope so.” Mickey muttered, turning to the door. He stopped as he reached for the doorknob and turned to walk back over to Ian, kissing him before walking back to the door and out to his own room. Once he was alone, he made it a point to breathe deeper and slower than he normally would, just to fight off any nerves that threatened to take over him before anything could actually happen. He felt anxious, but not in an overwhelming, crippling sort of way. It felt more like anticipation mixed with nervousness, and he counted to himself as he sifted through his underwear drawer to keep his head level. Once he grabbed a clean t-shirt and pajama pants, he swiped the towel from his bedpost and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

It might’ve been the most thorough shower he’d ever taken. All he could think about was how Ian was going to have his mouth all over him and the thought was exhausting him. He didn’t want to taste gross, but he was scared that if he washed himself too much, he would taste like soap. Once he actually finished scrubbing himself, he was scared that Ian wouldn’t like it because he didn’t taste like he should taste- he would’ve just tasted like nothing, and he wondered if that was even the case, even going so far as to lick his forearm in curiosity. Then he just felt stupid for licking his own arm. At some point toward the end of his shower, he leaned his forehead against the cold tile wall and closed his eyes, letting the water run over the back of his neck. He kept telling himself everything was fine, reminding himself that people went home from bars- where they sweated for hours- and did this kind of thing. Nobody complained. People also had sex in showers, and he’d never heard of anyone complaining about taste in that situation, either. He hoped that the clinical setup to what they were going to do had a big hand in the way he was thinking. Maybe when things were easier and just happened without any planning, it would all flow smoothly and it wouldn’t feel like he had a checklist of shit to think about before he walked into the room with Ian.

Though he found himself taking as long as he could in the shower, the time came when he knew he couldn’t drag it out any longer and he had to shut the water off. After that, all there was to do was dry off and get dressed. He ran his toothbrush under the faucet and ran it over his teeth a few times to clean his mouth a little without leaving an overwhelming mint flavor. Taking one final look at himself in the foggy mirror, he opened the bathroom door and began walking down the hall, where he met up with Ian halfway. The nerves that were bubbling up inside of him took him over when he saw him walking closer and he suddenly felt insecure.

“I’m gonna go put this stuff a-” Ian cut him off, leaning in and giving him a deep, passionate kiss as he cupped his face in his hands. Stepping forward, he backed Mickey against the wall and pressed their bodies together. Mickey actually felt himself getting weak in the knees and had to fight to keep his legs straight. Ian slowly pulled back and gave him one more soft peck on the lips.

“I’ll be there in a minute. You want water?” Mickey stared at him, dumbfounded, and nodded. “Be right there.” Ian said again, walking out toward the kitchen. Mickey took a step sideways toward his room and tripped over his own feet, catching himself before he fell, and continued walking to his room. Once inside, he tossed his clothes into his closet, not caring if they made it into the basket or not. He tried to remember what he had been thinking before Ian with two bottles of water, all he wanted was to kiss him again. “You want me to close this?” Ian asked, motioning to the door. Mickey nodded and approached him, taking it upon himself to initiate the kiss this time. His hands automatically went to Ian’s hips and he kept them there, barely touching his fingertips to Ian’s body. He felt and heard Ian struggling to find the dresser so he could put the waters down and Mickey smiled against his mouth when he heard things being knocked over and onto the ground as Ian shoved the bottles aside. He also heard the door shut and he mimicked Ian’s earlier actions by backing him up against it and grinding their bodies together. Ian’s fingers laced through the wet hair on the back of his head and Mickey felt him smile as he pulled back. “In a hurry, huh? Your hair’s soaked.” Mickey leaned in and kissed Ian’s throat as the redhead grabbed the towel off of Mickey’s shoulders and used it to gently scrub his head, drying his hair a little more. Once it was a little drier, Ian tossed the towel to the closet and stepped forward, almost tripping Mickey. “C’mon.” He said, grabbing Mickey’s shirt. Mickey walked to the bed and sat down, starting to untie the drawstring on the front of his pants. “Whoa, wait.” Ian said. Mickey looked up at him.

“What?” He asked. Ian shook his head and leaned down to kiss him again, this time slower and less frantic than their previous kisses. Mickey closed his eyes and let go of his pants, unsure of what to do with his hands. It went on for nearly a minute before Ian boldly climbed into Mickey’s lap, breaking the kiss only to kiss down his jaw.

“Back up and lay down.” He instructed. Mickey nodded, not trusting himself to say anything without stuttering. He scooted back on the bed and Ian moved with him, ending up straddling his thighs as Mickey reclined against the pillows. Ian continued kissing under his jaw, sucking on the skin there. Aside from enjoying how good it felt, all Mickey could think was how Ian was going to leave marks on him, and in that moment there was nothing he wanted more. He reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, squeezing gently and moaning as he tilted his head away to give Ian more room. Ian’s hand grasped Mickey’s hair and aided in tilting his head aside while his other hand wandered up under Mickey’s shirt and rested on his ribs. He couldn’t ignore how cold Ian’s fingers were, and he couldn’t stop himself from hoping that they’d warm up strictly for Ian’s sake. “You alright?” Ian asked, barely stopping his actions to ask. All Mickey could do was nod. He was okay- all of this was okay because it was nothing they hadn’t done before. He was getting used to this and he was beyond glad that he was because he fucking loved it. He parted his legs when he felt Ian prying his knee between them to make room for himself and he boldly wrapped one of his legs around Ian, pulling him down against himself. Ian took the hint and pressed his body against Mickey’s, eliciting a moan from him. Both of them were already worked up and the feeling of Ian’s body rubbing against his was the first thing to cause a bit of Mickey’s anxiety to come back. He reached down and grabbed Ian’s hip, pushing him up a little so there was less contact. Ian broke the kiss and looked down at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay.” Mickey assured, pulling Ian back down. and kissing him. Ian stood up on his knees between Mickey’s legs to minimize contact and kissed down his neck again.

“Up.” Ian said, pulling Mickey’s shirt up. He obeyed, sitting up and allowed his shirt to be removed. At that point, what was happening became a little more real as Ian ceased contact with Mickey’s neck and moved down to his stomach. He cupped Ian’s face in his hands with every intention of pulling him up away from the place he was the most insecure about, but when he felt how passionately Ian was kissing him, he ran his fingers up into his hair instead. He let him go, knowing that he could add his stomach to the list of places that would be marked up in the morning. It excited Mickey more than his neck getting hickeys. The thought of standing in front of a mirror and seeing the bruises all over the part of himself he most wanted to hide- to be reminded of how much time Ian had spent there and how he was basically worshiping him- He almost felt giddy about it. He snapped out of his euphoric daze when he felt Ian’s tongue trail down to the waistband of his pajama pants. He looked down in time to see Ian kiss his stomach once more before hooking his fingers in his pants and tugging down. “Can I take them off?” Ian asked. Mickey couldn’t make himself give a verbal response. Instead, he lifted his hips, granting permission without putting too much thought into it. He watched as Ian pulled the pants down and he lifted his legs to allow him to pull them all the way off. Once he was free of them, he swung his leg back over Ian so his knees were on either side of him. He suddenly felt exposed. When he looked down, he saw how his somewhat tight boxers showed the outline of his erection, and there was no hiding the effect Ian was having on him. Ian stared down at him as well and ran his hands up Mickey’s inner thigh, being careful not to go too high up. “You still good?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Mickey felt like he both needed Ian’s hands to move higher, and felt like he needed to end everything before they went any further. It wasn’t so much the anxiety that was threatening him, but the fear of a bad attack that discouraged him. Up to this point, it was all manageable, but he worried what would happen if Ian’s hands went higher, or if his mouth went lower. He didn’t have to worry for long, however, as both things he was dreading happened at once. It took a split second and when he looked down, he was faced with the sight of Ian’s hand massaging his dick through his underwear while his mouth basically did the same. He watched Ian’s tongue run lightly up the outline of his erection and he dug his heels into the mattress, his first instinct telling him to get away. He managed to stop himself from moving and watched so he could be reminded that it was Ian. The act didn’t last long before Ian moved back up and grabbed the top of Mickey’s underwear. In one motion, quicker than his pants had been removed, Ian had stripped Mickey down to nothing. As he lay naked under him, Mickey’s anxiety spiked.

“You wanna stop?” Ian asked, running his fingers down the side of Mickey’s face.

“No but I don’t like it.” Mickey admitted. Ian reached back and grabbed the underwear he’d stripped from Mickey and moved to slide them back onto him, taking his hands off to give him a couple minutes to relax. He played with Mickey’s hand as they rested, running his index finger down his palm and kissing it. “Better. It was just...”

“You were naked under me, Mick, you don’t have to explain to me why it was uncomfortable.” Ian assured. “You still want me to?” He asked, his voice sounding cautious. Mickey nodded before he could put much thought into it and Ian leaned down to kiss him again, working his way back down until he reached the underwear again. There was no waiting, and nothing slow after that. One second, Ian was teasing him by kissing along the top of his underwear, and the next, he’d pushed the boxers down and took Mickey into his mouth without hesitation. Mickey lifted his hips, shocked by the sudden sensation, and watched intently as Ian, with his eyes closed, moved his mouth slowly over his dick. It was unlike anything Mickey had ever felt before. Up until that point, the handjob Ian had given him was the best thing he’d ever felt but this was on a whole new level. It was warm, tight, and constant, and every time Ian lifted his head, Mickey silently begged him to not stop- to just go back down again, and Ian obliged. When he closed his eyes, the panic grew at an alarming rate, feeling like it could take over any second. He opened his eyes and looked down, seeing Ian’s face flushed with an expression that looked like all he was doing the only thing he wanted to be doing. It was like Ian wanted him and he wanted this more than he'd ever wanted anything. Everything Ian did- right down to sliding his hand up and down the inside of Mickey's thigh- all worked together to make the experience so good it was almost overwhelming.

All he wanted was to put his head back and close his eyes, but the threat of ruining everything kept him from doing so. He thought about ways he might be able to relax, to just lie back and enjoy it, then he thought of why he couldn't. He thought about what caused the panic- about what happened- and that was it. The tiny nudge he needed for the quick growing panic to take over. The feeling that was causing him immense pleasure mere seconds before began causing waves of traumatic familiarity to crash through every inch of his body and suddenly, there was no consent, no affection, no pleasure, and no Ian. There was only the dull sickness that made him want to vomit and absolute terror accompanied by the desperate need to get away.

“No- no, no- stop. Stop!" He shoved himself toward the headboard with his feet planted firmly in the mattress, kicking Ian and shoving him away by pushing on his shoulders with his feet. He pulled the blanket over himself. "Fuck- Oh my god..." He shook his head and looked around for his pants. "I have to go. I have to leave." Ian jumped off the bed and tossed Mickey's pajamas to him before opening the bedroom door. He pulled them on and shook his head again.

"Mick?"

"It's... It's bad. I feel like it's gonna be really bad right now. I don't want to be here-" he started crying and breathing too fast. "I don't wanna be here when it-" but it was too late, his crying was becoming on par with the night that led to Iggy and Ian fighting.

"Mickey remember what your doctor told you to do. You gotta talk before it gets to bad. Talk to me." Mickey bent over, trying to slow his breathing down.

"I don't want to talk I wanna fucking leave." He lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the bed, but Ian didn't move. "It's fucking-" he shook his head and covered his ears.

"Look at me." Ian said firmly. Mickey shook his head.

"Just stay away from me, Ian. Please, just stay back."

"I'm not near you and the door is open, Mickey, you can walk out. Look at me."

"I don't want to. I don't want-"

"Whenever you look at me it helps, alright? I know that. I know when you remember it's me, it helps, you told me that. So stop avoiding what will help you and open your fucking eyes." He said sternly. He wasn't angry and his voice showed that, but his desperation was making him more firm. Mickey obeyed him, feeling like he was giving in to something bad- like he shouldn't be listening to anyone, he should be doing what he felt was right and right then, what he felt he needed to do was either run or hide, not look the cause of his stress in the eye, but when he did, the result was almost instant. The second he laid eyes on Ian, his mind went into overdrive, as if he'd hit a damage control button and the things he repeated to himself when he was trying to make it through anything they did ran over and over like a machine trying to permanently engrave the words on his brain.

It's Ian. He's not going to hurt you. He's never going to hurt you. He'll stop at any time. He cares about you. He's not them.

He's not them.

His breathing didn't slow down, nor did his panic completely subside, but the need to get away from Ian was replaced by a need to be comforted, not left alone. He reached toward him and that was all the invitation Ian needed as he grabbed him and held him tightly- so tight that it actually hurt, but it didn't matter. It was the kind of pain that felt necessary. It reminded him of a seatbelt digging into his chest. A comforting reminder that he was safe and someone was there to protect and console him. He didn't hug him back. All he could do was close his eyes and bury his face into Ian's shoulder, breathing in and out as slowly as he could, his breaths shaky and occasionally interrupted with small gasps caused by his crying.

He didn't know how long he'd sat with Ian squeezing him, but when his body had returned to normal, he was exhausted and felt like he was going to go limp against him.

"You want me to stay?" Ian asked quietly, swaying him slightly back and forth. Mickey shook his head.

"It's bad. I'm gonna wake up soaked-"

"I don't give a fuck about that, Mickey, do you want me to stay?" Mickey hesitated, but nodded. He felt like the humiliation he was for sure going to feel was nothing when compared to the need he felt to keep Ian holding him. Neither of them spoke for a couple minutes and Ian leaned his cheek on the top of Mickey's head, continuing to rock him back and forth, calming him a little more. "Good?" Ian asked. Mickey shook his head. "Go to the bathroom and we'll go to bed." Mickey let go of him, instantly feeling uncomfortable. After Ian stood up, he helped Mickey to his feet so he could walk out of the room and down the hall. He was grateful nobody else was home so he wouldn't have to explain himself if they saw him the way he was.

Once he got to the bathroom, he felt the need to clean himself off, so he grabbed a rag and got it wet, putting his hand in his pants to wash up before he went to the bathroom and washed his hands. By the time he got back to his room, Ian was sitting on the bed. He could tell by the minute shift in Ian's facial expression that he must've looked horrible. There was no use dwelling on it, though, so he closed and locked his door. Ian slid against the wall, staying on top of the covers and Mickey got in after him, pulling the blanket up under his armpit before he grabbed Ian and pulled him closer. Ian wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him again though not as tightly, and Mickey concentrated on the smell of Ian's shirt and he kept his eyes open, staring at the wall. Every time he had an attack, he wondered if it would be the final straw- if whatever was going on at the moment would be what drove Ian away. The thought of Ian simply tolerating him went around his head several times as his mind raced. He thought maybe Ian for some reason felt guilty or felt obligated to stay, and the thought caused tears to fall all over again.

"I haven't done anything." He said quietly. Ian rubbed Mickey's back somewhat roughly.

"Hmmm?"

"To make you stay. I haven't done anything."

"Stop thinking you have to do something to make me want to be with you. You don't have to do anything."

"You're not-"

"If you say I'm not getting anything out of this I'm gonna go to my room, Mickey. Don't say it." It was exactly what Mickey was going to say, so he shut his mouth. "I'm here cause I want to be. You make me want to be here. Let that be enough." Mickey hesitated, but nodded, closing his eyes. "Try to relax and get to sleep. It's gonna be better in the morning." Again, he nodded, already feeling drowsy. Every thought that went through his head exhausted him further and as his mind continued to race and his thoughts became more and more erratic and senseless, he fell asleep, the sound of Ian's breathing being the only thing he found comfort in.

He slept heavy and didn't dream of anything through the night, waking up in the morning with his face nuzzled against Ian’s, the warmth of his breath soothing him with every exhale and dry sheets tangled between them.


	21. Spanish Sahara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, it's winding down. The end is near. I've written what happens after the last file. It's ugly.
> 
> I'm so sorry.

_“Now the waves, they drag you down_   
_Carry you to broken ground_   
_Though I find you in the sand_   
_Wipe you clean with dirty hands”_

_-Foals "Spanish Sahara"_

 

 

Mickey kept his head down as he stared at the carpet of the lobby. He felt Ian’s knee pressing against his own and found it comforting. His nerves were picking up and he dreaded going in to Clint’s office and having to actually say what had happened.

“You got insurance?” Ian asked. Mickey looked at him.

“What?”

“Medical insurance? You don’t work so I was wondering how much it costs to get insurance if it’s not through work.”

“Pricey.” Mickey said. Ian nodded and looked away.

“You’re good though, you can afford it.” Mickey looked at Clint’s door, nodding. “You gonna buy me nice things?” Ian asked after a short pause. Mickey looked at him.

“Huh?”

“Like clothes and vacations and stuff. Turn me into a kept boy. You know, one of those guys who just has to wake up and be pretty. Not allowed to wear anything but tiny short shorts around the house. Buy me kneepads for my birthday, that kinda thing?” Mickey tried to fight the smile that was coming to his face but he couldn’t.

“You’re fucking nuts.”

“Picture it, though. Like, ‘Oh, I wish I had some hummus.’ and I pop up with a bowl of it cause that’s my job- to just know when you need things.”

“What the fuck is hummus?” Mickey asked, earning a look of disbelief from Ian.

“You don’t know what hummus is?”

“Mickey?” Clint called. Mickey immediately stood up.

“It’s a dip- you put pita chips in it and eat it.” Ian said, sounding sad that he actually had to explain it. Mickey shook his head.

“What’s he talking about?” Clint asked as Mickey approached.

“Hummus?”

“You’re a doctor. You know what hummus is.” Ian stated. Clint nodded.

“Chickpeas.” Clint said. Ian clapped his hands and pointed at Clint.

“Chickpeas.” He reiterated. Mickey shoved passed Clint.

“I’m here for fuckin therapy, you two are talking about peas and dips.”

“It’s good.” Clint informed, closing the door as he stepped inside.

“Maybe you should date him, then. You two can go out for hummus and dancing.” Clint shook his head.

“Too much in the downstairs area for my liking. He’s got a pretty face, though. Can’t deny that.” Mickey smiled and sat down on the couch, keeping his head down to avoid the stack of files he knew was on Clint’s desk. “You like him?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, I like him.” He answered quietly. Clint walked over to his desk and sat down.

“Seems to be pretty positive and upbeat.” Mickey nodded again. “That’s always good to have in your life.” He looked at Clint finally and saw the files. Clearing his throat, he nodded toward them.

“How many more are there?” He asked. Clint looked at them, then back at him.

“Fifteen more total. Seven today, five of the same thing, two different.” Mickey thought about it for a second.

“So a couple more visits?”

“I’d say about three just to be safe. There’d be appointments after the files are done being reviewed to go over your mental state and coping mechanisms, but I’d say just about three to finish them.” Clint watched him for any reaction, but got nothing. “Something happen? You’re out of it.” Mickey felt anxious at the question, but nodded before he could decide not to. “Ian?” He nodded again.

“He tried to give me a blowjob- He did, he gave me one but I couldn’t- We didn’t finish cause I freaked out.” Clint opened Mickey’s folder and began writing. “You’re going to have my whole sexual history in that folder.”

“Yes, I am.” Clint said, continuing to write without looking at him. “He’s here. You guys seem okay.”

“We’re okay. He yelled at me.” Clint’s head shot up with a look on his face that reminded Mickey of a mother who was about to defend their child. “He snapped me out of it, I mean. He just-” Mickey took a quick breath to slow himself down. “I wouldn’t look at him. I wanted him to leave but he wouldn’t and he kept telling me to look at him cause it would help so I finally did and it did. It helped.” Clint seemed to accept his answer, nodding slightly and returning to his writing.

“You feeling okay about him not listening to you? About staying when you wanted him to leave?” Mickey stared at him, trying to figure out why Clint would ask that. He felt fine about it because of how it turned out. Ian had been right.

“I’m glad he didn’t listen to me. When I’m like that, I don’t think I know what’s best for myself... He stayed with me and I didn’t wet the bed.” He added somewhat quietly. Clint nodded again.

“After something that big. That’s awesome.” Mickey nodded, looking away. Neither of them spoke for about a minute.

“What are the five?” Mickey asked. Clint looked at him for a second before pulling the files closer.

“Well, there’s good and bad news, Mickey.”

“What’s the bad?” Clint raised his eyebrows.

“The bad is the rest of the files are increasingly more violent.” Mickey stared at him, unmoving.

“Good news?”

“Good news is the sexual aspect of the violence goes down. It’s still there, but not as much. Most of it as been in the files we’ve already covered.” Mickey couldn’t move. He felt like a weight had been lifted off of his body and he had to keep reminding himself that Clint told him it went down, it didn’t stop completely. “The ones we’re covering today all involve rape. The remaining ones... Some do, but not all.” He opened Mickey’s personal file and wrote something down. “First one involves the dog again, only this time you are being held in a man’s lap as you’re raped. Whenever the dog lunges at you, you move back against the man. You’re holding him... Like you’re between a rock and a hard place.” Mickey put his head down.

“Does it say anything else?” He asked.

“It says you’re clinging to him and crying. Asking him to get the dog away from you and that you’ll ‘do anything’.” Mickey nodded. He felt like he’d been tricked. He felt stupid. He felt even more stupid for feeling that way when what he felt stupid about had happened so long ago.

“So, what are they just trying to get me to tell them I’ll do what they want, or what?”

“I don’t know what they’re trying to do, Mickey.” He was irritated. He felt like he was going through a roller coaster of emotions since the night before. He was doing okay when he walked into the office, and now he felt pathetic for something that happened nearly two decades ago. “You’re getting antsy.” Clint noted, pointing to Mickey’s bouncing leg with his pen.

“Yeah, I’m getting antsy. Sorry this affects me.” He said angrily.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you want me to tell you what’s wrong, but you already know what’s wrong so what’s the point in having me say it?” Clint stared at him.

“Well, right now I want you to say it so you can tell me what flipped the switch to make you so hostile.”

“I’m tired of it.” Mickey said quickly. He sat up straight. “I’m fucking tired of everything. Of feeling fine one second, and having one little thing make me like this. I’m tired of really really wanting to do shit with Ian and not being able to. I’m tired of hearing this shit- Of picturing myself begging them for anything. I’m fucking picturing myself being that pathetic and it makes me fucking sick.” Clint’s expression shifted from sympathetic to the look he had when Mickey told him that Ian had yelled at him. Protective. Mickey sat back and stared at him.

“Okay, Mick, you want me to be honest?”

“That’s what I pay you for.” Clint nodded.

“Okay, your attitude- what you just said- is pathetic.” Mickey was stunned. He didn’t even have anything to spit back at him, he simply stared in shock. “Yes, pathetic, and if you wanna give me a bad grade on those rate-your-doctor sites because I’m telling you that, go ahead, but it’s true.” He shut Mickey’s file and leaned forward. “You’re seven in this file, Mickey. That means by this point, based solely on these files, you’d already been fondled, force fed semen, and raped. You put a child through that shit, and you bet your ass they’re going to beg for it to stop, and they’re going to try negotiating- they’re going to do anything they know how to do to save themselves from it and there’s nothing pathetic about that. Nothing. I get that you’re angry, alright? I can’t imagine how angry because I was fortunate enough to never have gone through any of this shit, but it’s my job to help steer you in the right direction and to help your way of thinking and this way of thinking you’ve got going right now isn’t okay. You can’t take in what I read to you and regret what you did or didn’t do. It wasn’t your job to do anything. You couldn’t do anything.” Mickey looked away and wiped his eyes. “You’ve got a lot of shit to be mad about, Mickey, but you can’t be mad at yourself for this. And as for the other stuff, you’re going to be good one second, and bad the next. There’s no other way to go through all this. Focus on the times you feel good and keep those in your mind when they go away and you feel like shit. They’re gonna come back. Look what happened last night. I walk out there and you two are joking together. Bad shit doesn’t last, okay?”

“Then how come I’ve been fucking-” Mickey shook his head.

“What? Immersed in it?”

“Yeah.”

“Because you haven’t stomped it out yet. That’s what we’re doing. It’s a shitty process and it takes time but you’re already progressing.” Mickey nodded.

“I know.”

“I know you do. And you can progress further by understanding why a child acts like a child when bad things are happening to them, rather than just calling them pathetic.” Mickey hesitated but nodded. “Do you want to stop for the day, or-”

“No I want these done as fast as possible.” Clint nodded and opened the next file.

“You want me to-”

”Yeah.” Mickey said, cutting him off. Clint nodded and scanned the paper.

“It says the video they’re reviewing starts mid-rape and shows- in detail- the injuries the act is inflicting. It says you’re bleeding but catatonic. When the rape is over, your body is filmed and it says the injuries you sustained appear to require stitches, but the video ends before any aide is given.” Mickey had nothing to say. He just nodded and waited for Clint to say something. “You’ve been examined since all of this, have any of the doctors-”

“There’s scarring. I don’t want to talk about it.” He said quickly. Clint nodded. “I’m sorry it’s just... You tell me not to be embarrassed, but it’s embarrassing.”

“That’s okay. I see why it’s embarrassing. We can move on.” Mickey nodded and looked at the stack of folders Clint was pulling over to himself. His doctor rested his hands on the stack and looked at him. “Mickey, have you had any developmental issues as you’ve grown up?” Mickey stared at him, confused.

“Like am I retarded?” He asked. He could tell Clint didn’t like the word he used, but nodded anyway. “No. Why? They bash my head in or something?”

“In all of these, your head is held underwater for extended periods of time. In all but one, you’re being raped while it’s happening. In all of them, you pass out, only to be resuscitated. You’re brought back in all of these. The longest you’re under water is two minutes and fifty seven seconds.” Mickey stared at him. “You have trouble swimming?” He shook his head.

“I’m a good swimmer.” Clint nodded and began writing in Mickey’s file.

“So, nothing that could be a result of this?” Mickey thought hard and shrugged.

“I don’t like being smothered?” He replied, as if he were asking if the answer was sufficient. Clint nodded and wrote it down.

“That’s normal, though.” Mickey nodded and watched Clint’s hand move across the paper. His mind wandered to what he’d just been told, and he focused on it for the first time, getting a visual of the act. It made his stomach turn.

“Where’d they do it?” He asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. He didn’t know why he was asking- maybe to fill in the holes in his visual. Why he would want that, even he couldn’t say, but he watched Clint go through the files again, skimming them for the information.

“Three over the edge of a bathtub, one in a bucket, one in a toilet.” He closed the file again and Mickey nodded, visualizing each one. He wasn’t sure why, but the bucket disturbed him the most. The thought of something so easy to tip over- so easy to overpower- causing such damage... He felt himself slipping.

“I feel like I’m gonna freak out.” Clint put his pen down and looked at him for a second before getting up and turning the fan in the corner of the room on, pointing it at Mickey.

“Alright, lean over.” He listened, leaning forward so his head was between his knees. “Close your eyes and breathe. In. One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Six... Out slow through your nose.” He listened to the instructions and repeated the actions three times before he felt like the panic attack had been averted. “Talk to me.” Clint said. Mickey shook his head.

“I just pictured it. I just... Leaning over like that... And the drowning isn’t enough they had to- It’s fucking sick.”

“It is. But?” Mickey closed his eyes and nodded, already knowing what Clint wanted him to say.

“It’s over.”

“It’s over.” He wiped his eyes and looked at the clock.

“You’re doing great, Mickey.” He looked at Clint. “You’ve come so far. You’ve gotten through so much of this. There’s only a little bit more and you’re still coming back every day, ready to do it. I know we’ve got that buddy-buddy kind of relationship and it might be a little weird for me to tell you but I’m proud of you.” Mickey nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Eight more.” Mickey nodded and stared at the floor for a minute.

“How bad are they?” He asked. Clint looked at him.

“A few of them involve other kids. Their names and ages have been omitted from the files. Mandy identified herself in one.” Mickey had no control over the tears that came when he heard her name. Clint had already told him that she’d be in some of the files, but there was really no way of preparing himself for whatever was going to happen. Part of him wanted to ask Mandy but the thought of hearing her tell what had happened terrified him. Clint handed a box of tissues to Mickey, but he shook his head. He wasn’t in the mood to sit and be coddled anymore.

“Is that it? Everything?” Clint nodded.

“For today.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go...” He walked to the door, opening it and seeing Ian sleeping with his head back in the chair he was left in. He walked over and shook him awake, turning away before Ian could see that he’d been crying.

“Mick?” Ian followed out the door and Mickey kept his head down, heading to the car. “Mickey.” Still, he didn’t stop. All he wanted was to get into the car and go home. He wanted to see his sister and remind himself that whatever he was going to hear was irrelevant because she was home safe. He needed that. So when Ian grabbed his hand to stop him, he shoved him away violently, only realizing how rough he had been when he turned and looked at him. Ian had his hands up, looking shocked.

“I’m sorry.” Mickey shook his head. “It was... I just need to... I didn’t mean to shove you I’m sorry.” Ian moved in slowly, staring at Mickey’s face with a look of concern. Mickey shook his head again, glancing at Ian’s face as the redhead’s hands came up slowly and cupped his jaw on both sides. Mickey couldn’t duck his head or look away anymore. He averted his eyes as Ian stared at him.

“Mick?” Mickey bit his lip to stop it from shaking, still keeping his eyes away from Ian.

“I’m okay.” He tried to say, but only a quiet broken whisper came out. He cleared his throat and lifted his hand to rest it over Ian’s, squeezing gently. “I’m okay.” He glanced at Ian quickly, looking away again.

“You’re okay.” Ian wasn’t asking. He was telling Mickey that he was okay- that whatever had happened was done and he was okay. Mickey nodded and closed his eyes as Ian leaned in and kissed his lips softer than he ever had before. It was barely anything, but it felt like everything. Ian’s hand held him firmly in place but there was nothing threatening or overpowering about it. His words sunk deep- so deep that Mickey had no choice but to believe them. His lips were so gentle they barely let him feel anything, but the kiss was everything. It was reassuring and comforting, loving, protective... He closed his eyes as Ian pulled his face closer and he rested his forehead on Ian’s shoulder as his boyfriend wrapped his arms around him and hugged him softly but firmly. Mickey inhaled Ian’s scent as he allowed himself to be rocked back and forth slightly, sliding his hands up Ian’s back until he ended up wrapping his arms around him and holding him as close as he could. There was nothing more that Mickey wanted in that moment than to be even closer to Ian. He wanted this feeling to be amplified. He wanted everything Ian could possibly give.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood in the parking lot, but when Ian pulled back, it was slowly with lips pressing gently against the side of his neck, up his jaw, to his cheek, under his wet eye to his nose and finally to his mouth again.They were simple feather-light touches any guy would mock relentlessly in any other situation- but not in that moment. In that moment, Ian’s lips brushing every inch of his face was all Mickey needed and he kept his eyes closed, letting himself enjoy it- letting himself be calmed and soothed with light touches and soft kisses. For a moment after Ian pulled back a little, neither of them looked away, and no words were spoken on the way home. Neither of them mentioned anything as they walked into the apartment and they were quickly acting as if nothing had happened, Mickey not wanting to explain everything to his siblings, and Ian understanding him without a word.


	22. I Don't Wanna Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late.

_"First comes heavy breathing_  
_Staring at the ceiling_  
_What will happen next_  
_I don't wanna know"_

_\- New Found Glory, "I Don't Wanna Know"_

 

Ian was lying on Mickey’s bed that night, still wearing his dress shirt and tie from the few hours of work he actually went to. Mickey walked in timidly, his towel draped over his shoulders. Had Ian known that Mickey had just taken the most thorough, invasive shower of his life and why, he wouldn’t be so relaxed reading a three-year-old issue of National Geographic, but there he was as clueless as ever. Mickey stepped in further and closed and locked the door, eyeing the handle of the plastic grocery bag he’d brought home earlier that was sticking out of the drawer by his bed. He jumped when Ian finally spoke.

“I remember trying so hard to jerk off to these Native lady boobs when I was little. Cause you know how these are like porn to kids? All my friends would talk about it- about how that’s what we were supposed to do but it just never worked for me.” He flipped the page and Mickey used the towel to dry his hair a little more before draping it over the bedpost. “And it’s so unfair, you know? They know- They have to know that kids jerk off to their magazine, yet it’s all titties all the time. No dick. Not to mention they come in pairs, so it’s double titty zero dick. The titty/dick ratio is completely off kilter.” Mickey stared at him, wanting him to keep talking because it meant he wasn’t staring, and when he wasn’t staring, it made it easier for Mickey to crawl onto the bed and straddle him, which he managed to do. Ian pretended not to notice, flipping through more pages silently as Mickey awkwardly moved so he was finally comfortable, which was difficult seeing as how he was only wearing boxers, sitting on Ian’s thighs. “Did you know clownfish change sexes and mate with their own kids? I wanna get lit and watch Finding Nemo. It’s gonna be fucked up.” Mickey stared at him until he got his attention, and then looked away. “You’re blushing like a virgin on her wedding night.” Ian noted. Mickey glanced at the drawer again, trying to slow his heartbeat down. He felt like it was beating so hard that Ian could probably see it through his chest.

“I uh...” The room felt hotter and he wasn’t sure if the moisture on his face was from his shower or if it was sweat. “I read this article cause... I didn’t know what- if there was anything I had to do before, like when you want to... You know... Cause I wasn’t sure if there was anything I should do first. But it said some things and I did them, and um...” Ian had put the magazine aside and was running his hands up and down Mickey’s thighs in a failed attempt at soothing him. Mickey reached over and opened the drawer, pulling out the bag and setting it next to Ian. “Everything I read said I should... That I should get um...” He couldn’t talk anymore. He felt like he was going to hyperventilate, so he looked away and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to make himself feel like he was anywhere except his boyfriend’s lap. The rustling of the bag snapped him out of it and when he opened his eyes again, Ian was pulling the boxes of condoms and lube out, looking them over. It was worse than it had been when he actually bought them. He felt like everyone was staring at him, but he forced himself to actually read what he was buying, since there were so many different choices. Ian looked at him and Mickey couldn’t read his expression. He felt humiliated, having gotten all of his information off of the internet when here Ian was, experienced beyond belief, likely thinking about how sad it was that he had to Google everything to figure it out.

“You’re freaking out.” Ian noted. Mickey forced a smile and nodded, looking away as he felt a familiar burn in the corners of his eyes.

“I’m freaking out.” He confirmed.

“Are you-” Ian sat up and Mickey moved to adjust to the change in position. “Are you gonna cry right now?”

“I feel stupid.” He blurted out. “I feel like I had to read a manual to learn how to breathe or something, but it’s not... I know I should already know all this stuff but I don’t and I feel stupid having to go online and hope that I’m reading the right stuff. I’m really trying so please don’t laugh at me if I mess up. Ow!” Ian let go of Mickey’s leg after pinching it hard. “What the fuck-”

“Don’t assume I’ll laugh at you, you dick.”

“I didn’t assume!”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“I know you’re not.”

“And I’m not going to.” Ian added. Mickey nodded and they were both quiet. Mickey put his head down, avoiding looking at the purchases he’d made earlier that day as Ian grabbed one of the boxes. Mickey glanced and saw it was the lube.

“Is that okay?” He asked. Ian ripped the box open and Mickey’s nerves rose as he watched him unscrew the lid and take the seal off before replacing the lid again.

“I have some stuff we can use on you. this is gonna be good for us, though.” Mickey watched him, confused.

“What do you mean?” He gasped slightly when Ian squeezed the bottle, pouring some on his thigh. He watched Ian put the bottle aside before putting his hand on Mickey’s thigh to rub the liquid in. Mickey’s skin immediately began heating up and something about it- about knowing what Ian was rubbing on him, along with that act itself- turned him on.

“This stuff soaks in pretty quick so, when we get down to it, we can use the stuff I have for you and use this stuff for this.” Mickey smiled.

“For my legs?” He asked. Ian looked at him and, without warning, slid his hand up the leg of Mickey’s boxers, wrapping his wet hand around Mickey’s dick. Mickey tensed and Ian stared at his face, not moving his hand. The playful, light mood was gone and the two of them fell silent, both waiting to see how things were going to go. Mickey pulled one of his legs in, wrapping it around the back of Ian, who took it as a hint to move forward. His hand squeezed a bit tighter and moved slowly. Mickey bowed his head and glanced down at what Ian was doing. He knew keeping his eyes open would make it easier, but he felt awkward watching every move. He averted his eyes and instead leaned in to kiss Ian. It was gentle, and Mickey couldn’t help but wonder if Ian was being especially careful because he knew it was going to be a tense night. He opened his eyes when Ian pulled back.

“We’re gonna do this?” Ian asked. Mickey stared at him and nodded. “You know there’s more to it than just doing it?” Mickey leaned in to kiss him and Ian backed up, his hand stopping.

“I know.” Mickey said.

“You do?” Mickey nodded. He’d read things all day about what to expect and what to do, trying his hardest to get it all in his head so when it happened, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

“I know it hurts if you don’t...” He paused, feeling awkward saying it. “Get yourself ready.” He concluded. Ian nodded.

“You gonna be okay with that part?”

“I already did it.” He informed, leaning in only to have Ian back up again. “Would you stop doing that?”

“You already did it?” Mickey nodded.

“When I was in the shower.” Ian stared at him.

“So I’m in here reading about sea life and you were in the bathroom with your fingers-” Mickey finally managed to kiss him again and Ian shut up, closing his eyes and moving his hand again. Mickey reached between them and began unbuttoning Ian’s pants. “Wait, wait, wait-”

“Jesus!” Mickey moaned, frustrated as Ian pulled back again.  
  
“No, I gotta go get the stuff.” Ian said. He took his hand out of Mickey’s boxers and gently pushed him away so he could get off the bed. Mickey watched him move quickly out the door and he sat on the bed, wondering if he was making the right choice. He thought back to all the times he’d panicked either during or after doing something with Ian, then he thought about how serious what they were about to do was. He couldn’t imagine having an attack any worse than any of the ones he’d already had. “Hey.” He looked up at Ian, who was closing and locking the door. “What’s going on?” Mickey shook his head. “Don’t say nothing.”

“I’m not. I was just thinking about it.” Ian walked over, tossing the bottle he’d brought in aside and sitting next to Mickey, who pulled a pillow over his lap. He didn’t ask any more questions, he just waited for Mickey to talk. “I don’t want to freak out, but I know I’m going to.” He put his head down, hoping Ian wouldn’t refuse to continue just because of the discomfort.

“Then why do you want to do it?” Mickey looked at him.

“I’m never gonna be perfectly fine with it, Ian. You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“I might.” Ian replied. Mickey stared at him for a minute, knowing it was true.

“You’re not going to intentionally hurt me.”

“If I know it’ll hurt you and I do it anyway, it’s intentional.”

“Do you ever just shut the fuck up?” Mickey asked, frustrated. Ian cracked a smile and shook his head.

“You know I don’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” Mickey said, defeated. He looked away and let his thoughts run in circles for a bit before looking at Ian again. “Same rules as always?” Ian looked at him and nodded. Mickey took one more deep breath and leaned in, kissing Ian again. It felt forced for a few seconds, but they both melted into it and Ian turned as Mickey grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down on top of himself. “Wait-” Ian jumped up, ceasing all contact as if he’d just gotten caught stealing. Mickey reached over and turned his lamp off disappointed for a moment when he couldn’t see Ian at all, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the dark and he was greeted with the sight of Ian taking his shirt off. It was like something out of a cheesy romance movie or something, but his eyes were glued to Ian’s body for maybe a little longer than they should’ve been. His staring was finally interrupted when Ian leaned down and smiled, kissing him deeply.

“You act like you’ve never seen me before.” He murmured, kissing Mickey again.

“Feels different this time.” Mickey explained. Ian smiled.

“It is different this time.” He said. He settled between Mickey’s legs and continued kissing him, nipping at his lips gently at times, seeming to know that Mickey enjoyed it.

It was weird to Mickey that they’d made out countless times, but this time felt so different. It felt serious and heavy. It felt like there was no room for joking or anything lighthearted, and he was completely okay with it. He was okay with the lack of laughing because to him, it felt like they had to be extra careful this time, and they were. Ian kept one hand cradling Mickey’s face and the other in his hair. Whenever Mickey would open his eyes, Ian would be looking at him, and neither of them said a word, they’d just smile and keep going. It was slow and sensual and Mickey’s mind was focused on every move Ian made, tensing slightly when the redhead’s hips dug into his.  
  
“You okay?” Ian asked. Mickey nodded, looking at him. He felt how hard Ian had gotten in the short amount of time they’d been kissing. He wondered if Ian was any more sensitive than he would be if he hadn’t been denied sex for so long. He wondered if Ian was secretly desperate for Mickey to tell him he was ready and he felt good for finally agreeing to give it to him. His thoughts stopped when Ian began grinding against him again and he moaned into his boyfriend’s mouth, earning a smile in return. Ian’s pace was slow and steady and it made Mickey’s face heat up like it had when he was stuttering about wanting to do this. Everything grew even hotter when Ian started kissing down his neck, spending very little time on his seemingly favorite spot on Mickey’s neck in order to move down to his collar bone. He didn’t stop there and Mickey opened his eyes, watching as Ian’s back arched on his way down. He couldn’t help but notice the muscles flexing and sat for a second in awe of Ian’s body, and in shock that he was his boyfriend. Ian rested on his elbows and kissed Mickey’s stomach, biting and sucking on the skin there until Mickey was sure he’d have marks on himself. Ian shifted his body to move lower and Mickey sat up.

“No-” Ian popped up and looked at him. “I don’t want... I know it’s stupid cause we’re... I just don’t want to.” Ian smiled and nodded, leaning in to kiss him slowly. It grew intense rather quickly and soon, Ian was on top of him again, grinding against him faster than he had been before. A couple minutes into it, Ian stopped and moved away, shaking his head and leaving Mickey confused.

“No, we gotta stop. I can’t keep doing that if we’re gonna go farther.” Mickey nodded. It meant Ian was ready, and he sat there, going over it time and time again, wondering if this was the right choice. Any split second of doubt was crushed when he looked at Ian, who waited patiently, running his finger between each hair on Mickey’s thigh. He wasn’t pushing, or even looking at Mickey to try and understand what he was doing, he just waited in silence, giving Mickey all the time he needed. His eyes fell to the bottle Ian had brought in and he picked it up, getting Ian’s attention. He read the bottle, not retaining any of the information, simply dragging everything out until he finally decided they’d waited enough.

“Do I put this on, or do you?” He thought for a split second that he saw a nervous expression wash over Ian’s face, but it left faster than he could be positive.

“We both need it on. You want me to do it for you?” No. That was Mickey’s first thought. Absolutely not. Then he thought about what Ian would be doing, and what he was going to be doing, and how much more experienced he was and how he knew what he was doing and Mickey didn’t, so he nodded and let out a breath. Ian nodded back and took the bottle. He sat it next to Mickey’s hip and grabbed the hem of his boxers. “I’ve already seen you naked. Don’t be nervous about that.” Mickey smiled and looked away. “Mickey.” He looked at him. “Maybe you should look at me, alright?” Mickey stared at him. “I just think you need to see that it’s me, okay?” Mickey hesitated, but nodded.

“Okay.” Ian pulled Mickey’s boxers off and grabbed the bottle. Pouring some on his hand, he moved closer, sitting between Mickey’s legs, and leaned down to kiss him. It was slow again and Mickey didn’t notice Ian’s hand moving until it was on him. He gasped and lifted his hips, making Ian pull back.

“Are you alright?”

“I didn’t know you were- Sorry I wasn’t expecting it.” Ian nodded.

“You still want me to?” Mickey nodded before Ian got the sentence completely out. “Okay here- lift.” Mickey lifted his hips and Ian moved closer, sliding his hand back under him and sliding his fingers up his ass. Mickey watched Ian’s arm as it moved and he felt Ian’s fingers dragging over his opening, leaving lube wherever he touched. “And you already-” Mickey nodded again. “And you shaved.” Ian added, his voice dripping with mock flattery. Mickey kicked him and he took his hand away. “You’re good.” He slapped Mickey’s thigh gently and began working himself out of his boxers. The second they were off, He reached over and opened the box of condoms. Mickey watched him bite one of the packages open and take the condom out. The rest happened quickly. Ian rolled it onto himself and poured more lube into his hand, rubbing it on his dick and moving closer to Mickey. “Tell me when you want to do this. I can wait as long as you need.”

“Now.” Mickey said, knowing if he didn’t just blurt it out, he wouldn’t say it at all. Ian hesitated but listened and got closer, maneuvering Mickey’s legs around his hips. He leaned forward and kissed Mickey.

"You're shaking." Ian said, backing up. Mickey stared at the ceiling, breathing deeper and slower to calm himself down. Ian kept his head down, trying to look anywhere but at Mickey because he knew he hated being stared at.

“I’m okay. I told you I was going to freak out, but I’m okay. I feel- physically I feel fine I’m just nervous.” Ian nodded. “Do it.” Ian looked at him for a minute before doing as he was told and lining their bodies up.

Mickey was tense, and he knew it was probably making it all so much worse, but he didn't know how to stop it. He felt Ian’s dick pressing against his ass hard and didn’t know how it was actually going to work.

“Try to relax.” Ian advised quietly. Mickey nodded as Ian rubbed his hip to soothe him. He pressed a little tighter and Mickey gasped as Ian finally slid inside him, even though it was barely an inch. It wasn’t a shooting pain or a tearing feeling that he felt- just pressure and a slight pinching, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle, which ruled out physical pain as a reason to stop. If it all ended now, it would be because of what was going on in his head, which he currently seemed to have under control. "Breathe." Ian said quietly. Mickey let out a breath he’d been holding and Ian slid in further until his hips were pressed against Mickey’s ass. That was it. Mickey stared at the ceiling, the thought of the fact that technically he’d now had sex, even if they didn’t finish, this much had happened. “Mick?"

“I’m good." Ian nodded and slowly pulled out, which felt weirder than when Ian went in. Once he’d pulled back enough, he pushed back in. Ian leaned down and kissed him softly. They continued making out until Ian had set a steady pace and pulled back, leaning his forehead against Mickey’s temple. He moved in long, drawn out and slow thrusts and one of his hands gripped Mickey's hip while the other laced through his hair. The feeling of Ian's hot breath on the side of his face soothed Mickey, but not enough to make his anxiety completely disappear. "I can't stop thinking." He said, his voice shaking. Ian slowed to a stop and Mickey shook his head. "I don't want you to stop." Ian nodded and moved again to get back to his original pace. "My head's just going crazy. I just- Fuck-" he arched his back and tightened his grip on Ian, who looked scared.

"What? Are you okay? What did I do?" Mickey shook his head.

"I don't know what you did but I want you to do it again." Ian smiled and leaned down to kiss him. He pulled back so their noses were touching and thrust himself into Mickey's body again, a little harder than he'd been doing it. It wasn't an instant orgasm, nor was it all that intense, but it was a teasing bit of pleasure coming from wherever Ian was rubbing against inside of him and he felt like his mind was put on a one-way track when he felt it. Ian smiled down at him and did it again, and then again. Their slow, gentle movements had shifted to somewhat hard thrusts that had begun building pleasure inside of Mickey.

He understood then. He got why people obsessed over sex. He was closer to Ian at that point than he'd ever been before, which was enough for him to love it. On top of that, Ian was managing to build up what Mickey anticipated to be the most intense orgasm of his life. All he could think of was Ian- holding onto him, the pain from Ian's grip on his hip, the fact that his gentle scalp massage had now turned into hair pulling- how undone Ian was becoming. Just looking at him added to Mickey's pleasure.

"Mick?" He asked breathlessly.

"Mmm?" Ian kissed him deeply.

"You almost there?" Mickey nodded and moaned again when Ian grabbed his dick and began jerking him off. It was too much. The combination of the emotional aspect of everything, the sounds Ian's hips made when they slammed into Mickey and the pleasure caused by the actual sex, along with Ian jerking him off-

"I'm gonna- Ian-" Ian sped up rather than slowed down and right before he cried out, Ian slammed his hand over his mouth to stifle it.

He saw white. His body ached but he arched his back again as he felt Ian's hand get wetter. Ian moved his hand away from Mickey's mouth and grabbed his hip with it again. It took a couple hard thrusts for him to collapse forward on top of Mickey and moan, his voice shaking. His hips still moved in twitchy thrusts until he gave one final thrust and collapsed completely on top of Mickey, both of them so overwhelmed that they couldn't speak or move. It had been exhausting and Mickey didn't even want to open his eyes. An overwhelming urge to sleep came over him and he remained limp under his boyfriend's weight as they both took time to catch their breaths.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually Ian lifted his head and slowly sat up. Mickey watched him take the condom off and dump the rest of them out of the box so he could put the used one in. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of water, along with a towel off the bedpost. He poured water on his hand over the towel and cleaned it off before folding the now wet towel so a clean part was exposed and leaned over to clean Mickey's stomach off. He continued downward, wiping ever remnant of what had happened off of Mickey, and Mickey let him, too tired for modesty. When he was done. Ian got off the bed and stood for a second, his legs shaky, before going to the dresser and pulling out two pair of clean boxers. He slipped one on and gave the other to Mickey.

He stared at Ian even though he knew it was somewhat awkward. He watched as he picked up the bottles and condoms and dug under the back corner of his underwear drawer to hide them, placing everything back neatly before closing the drawer and walking back to the bed.

"Is it okay?" He asked. Mickey nodded, shoving aside the sick feeling that was more prominent now that the pleasure had subsided. He turned toward the wall and pulled his knees up, feeling guilt so strong that he wanted to cry, but he didn’t. He kept telling himself it was alright. It was over, and that was it. That was all he’d been aftraid of. He was safe, alive, and in bed with someone who cared about him. Someone who would never hurt him.

However, none of those thoughts meant anything after Mickey fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that the scene was so short. I know this entire story was building up to the big bang, but here's the deal- I've never had gay man butt sex before, as I am not a gay man. I can't go into super mega detail like other writers do because I still laugh at the word "cock". Sex happens. Obviously this story isn't meant to be a smutfest, it's meant to be an emotionally draining stab in the heart, and I promise to deliver on that. Sex though? I'm not the best at writing it. Sorry if it let you down, but I promise to make you cry at least two more times before this story is over, and I'd say there's probably, at the most, five chapters left. Possibly less, maybe one or two more than that. But it's winding down.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	23. Get Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit of a longer one. Let me know what you think!

_“Five days after black and red collide_  
 _The motion sickness passed_  
 _I’ll be the first to stand_  
 _Behind that weathered door_  
 _I thought we would be safest_  
 _My head is dizzy now_  
 _I thought we’d overcome_  
 _We might not make it home_  
 _Tonight"_  
-Barcelona, _“Get Up”_

Mickey woke up the next morning when it was still dark outside. His body was curled up and Ian was pressed against him from behind, his nose and forehead resting on the back of Mickey’s neck, and his arm draped over his hip. There was no time to enjoy the would-be comfort of being held by one of the few people he trusted, or reflect on what the two of them had done. All he could focus on was the paralyzing fear he was feeling. He couldn’t move, and everything about his current situation told him to get away. He itched with the urge to elbow Ian in the chest, jump over him and out the room, and lock himself in the bathroom, but he couldn’t. Instead, he stared at the wall, surrounded by reminders of how far from normal he actually was.

The sheets were soaked, not wet, and he felt it all the way to the middle of the bed, which meant Ian was currently sleeping in urine. The pain in his hips, hickey’s on his stomach, and the fact that he had a tiny bit of an ache in his ass was what caused the worse of his attack, mainly because he’d felt it before. His body had felt every bit of it before, but his mind remembered nothing, and everything his mind couldn’t remember was bad. After Clint had told him about body memories, he did some research. It was hard for him to understand and he’d read people’s skepticism on the idea, but this- It proved to him that they were real. This was happening. His body felt it and it was causing a reaction that he didn’t want it to. The urge to throw up was only intensified when Ian stirred in his sleep behind him. Mickey shut his eyes again, forcing streams of tears to flow down the bridge of his nose to the pillow below. He was terrified to speak, knowing that this was the type of attack that would be unmanageable once it started, and having to speak would set him off, but he had to.

“Ian?” It barely came out and Mickey silently cursed himself for wasting an attempt. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, sending more tears down. “Ian.” He said a little louder and a hundred times more clear. Ian stirred and moaned.

“Hmmm?” Mickey was shaking and it was audible when he took deep breaths.

“Get away from me.” His voice broke and Ian didn’t move. That was it- all it took for Mickey to break down crying loudly and curling up more, intensifying the pain. Ian jumped up and let go of him. “Get off of me!” Mickey cried, his words slurring together.

“I’m off, I-” Ian paused and Mickey knew he’d realized he’d been soaked.

“I-” Mickey tried to talk, but his jerky breaths cut off his words, making him stutter. “I’m sorry. I’m s-” Another breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Mick. Look, it’s fine, alright? I know this happens and I don’t care. Don’t cry about this.” Mickey bowed his head down, hiding his face from Ian’s view.

“Leave.”

“Mick-” Mickey shook his head and grabbed his sheets, squeezing them until his knuckles turned white. “Mickey? Talk to me what is it?” Mickey wanted Ian gone. His head was racing and he could barely pick out a coherent thought. Just fragments. Guilt about the sex- about enjoying it. Enjoying something that caused this reaction, enjoying what caused the damage. Guilt for doing this to Ian- for his confusion and for him waking up soaked and having to act like it didn’t bother him. Anger that nothing could go right. Hatred and fear toward Ian because he did this, however irrational that reaction was. He knew it wasn’t Ian’s fault, but he felt like it was and he couldn’t make that thought leave his head. He knew if Ian tried to touch him, he wouldn’t be able to control himself and he would probably hurt him on instinct alone. He also knew Ian wouldn’t touch him, and he was grateful.

“I’ve fe-lt it. I felt i-it before.” Ian stared at him, though Mickey couldn’t see. “It h-hurts and I’ve felt it- before- I do-n’t remember. I don’t remember but I-ve felt it.” He felt Ian get off the bed and instantly felt a minute amount of fear leave.

“I hurt you?” Before Mickey could think, he nodded. Ian had hurt him. He was the cause of the pain, whether Mickey consented or not. It was a fact.

“I told you-”

“Fuck-” He heard Ian pacing the room and could practically feel his worry.

“I to-ld you to.”

“I was too rough with you. I was- I shouldn’t have-” Ian’s voice conveyed his guilt, which intensified Mickey’s

“I told you-”

“You told me to, but I didn’t have to. I should’ve known-”

“Please go. Ple-please Ian?”

“I don’t want to, Mick.” Mickey closed his eyes, wanting to hear anything but that. “I know you want me to but I don’t want to. I did this. I don’t want to do nothing to help fix it. I can’t just go make pancakes, Mick, I have to help, please.” He pleaded. Mickey shook his head, his nausea getting stronger. “Mick-”

“I don’t rem-ember what they did. I know what they did b-but I don’t remember. But it felt like th-this. I felt this. They made me feel this but I liked it- with you- but it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! Think about that, Mickey.”

“I can’t like something that does this to me. I can’t like this it’s fucking disgusting.” His breathing had returned to normal and he spoke more clearly.

“They were fucking disgusting, Mickey. What they did was fucking disgusting. Raping a kid is fucking disgusting. I’m not disgusting- we aren’t. What we did- None of it was disgusting, Mickey. It was you and me with a ‘yes’ and concern, and permission. It wasn’t what they did.”

“It hurts-”

“It hurts everyone. I did it and it hurt me. I know what you’re feeling and I know your head is telling you it’s horrible and it’s the same as what they did, but it’s not, Mickey. It goes away and you forget about it, and you’ll remember what else you felt. What your head was thinking when it was happening- how you wanted it- you’ll remember all of that soon, I promise, okay? I fucking promise what’s going on right now will stop and you’re going to be okay.”

“I’m losing it-”

“You’re not! Look at me, Mickey. Please. Please turn over and look at me.” Mickey closed his eyes again, breathing deep until he felt stable enough to sit up. When he did, he saw his pillow was now soaked with tears and matched his sheets. He turned to face Ian and slid his legs off the bed, keeping his head down as he sat, waiting for anything to happen, then it did. Ian, a few feet away and not even close enough to touch Mickey if he reached his hand out, knelt down slowly and got into Mickey’s line of sight. Mickey looked at him and neither of them spoke as they stared at each other. Ian had been crying, but nowhere near as hard as Mickey had been. “Mick?” he asked softly. His face, as it always did, soothed Mickey. It didn’t take much of his anxiety away, but seeing him brought a vague calm over him. It had been Ian, and he associated Ian with tenderness and understanding. That’s what he was reminded of when he saw the redhead’s face. The lack of judgment and concern for his wellbeing- everything opposite of what he was associating the pain with. Ian wasn’t those things. He wasn’t disgusting. He was Ian- he was safe. He was innocent, and Mickey had hurt him. He’d scared him to the point of making him cry, and Ian wasn’t much of a cryer.

“I need to see Clint.” Mickey said, his voice low. Ian nodded.

“You want me to call him? To tell him you need him?” Mickey nodded, not trusting himself to talk to Clint over the phone. He put his head back down as Ian grabbed Mickey’s phone and searched the contacts before putting it up to his ear.

“No, it’s Ian... Nothing- I mean... He’s here... He’s talking but he-... He needs to see you... It’s bad. He’s-... No not hospital bad. He’s calmed down he just needs you... I can if he wants me to, but he’s calming down I’m sure he can drive himself... I can’t make him... Okay... Okay I will... He’ll be there... Okay, bye.” He hung up and tossed the phone aside.

“He’s already at his office. He asked if I could drive you.” Mickey shook his head. The last thing he needed was to be in a small enclosed space with Ian.

“I can do it. I just need a minute.” Ian nodded and Mickey lifted his head to look at him. Again, they stared at each other, Ian likely waiting for Mickey to speak, and Mickey having no intention of doing so- he merely needed Ian’s face to sink it. He needed to associate something good with what he was feeling. “I know you’re going to tell me it’s fine and that you understand, but don’t, please. Just listen.” Ian nodded. “I’m sorry. Okay?” Ian nodded, keeping his mouth shut. “I don’t want this to happen. I don’t want to lump you in with them, but I am and I’m sorry. You’re not them, and I know that, but I forget it. I forget there’s a difference and even right now, it doesn’t feel much like there is. It feels gray, if that makes sense. I gotta figure this out.” Ian nodded again and waited for him to speak again. He didn’t. Instead, he got up, glancing at Ian’s boxers and seeing that they were more than halfway soaked through and clinging to his leg. Mickey walked to the dresser and Ian backed out of his way so there was no danger of accidental contact, and he grabbed two pairs of boxers. His eyes fell on the condoms and lube. He gathered his courage and grabbed them, too. Handing all of it, along with clean boxers, to Ian, who hopefully knew what to do with it. He then grabbed his dirty jeans and a t-shirt off the ground. After unlocking the door, he pointed to the bed. “Can you just leave that? I know it’s gross and the sooner it’s off, the better, but I can’t have you touching it, even if you don’t care. I have to do that myself, okay?” Ian nodded and Mickey walked to the bathroom, where he showered and got dressed. Afterward, he went back to his room, noticing the fact that Ian’s door was closed and his own room was empty. He grabbed his phone and keys and headed to the car.

Sitting down didn’t intensify the pain very much. Mickey could barely consider it a pain, actually. It was an ache. It was like a pulled muscle. He endured the discomfort and drove to Clint’s office, where he was called back immediately.

He’d waited for Clint to gather all the usual files on Mickey and lay them out on his desk. He eventually looked at Mickey.

“You’ve been crying. You look like shit.” Mickey nodded, knowing it was true. “What happened?”

“I had sex with Ian.” Clint actually stared that time. He seemed shocked to hear it.

“And it was bad?” Mickey thought about it. He thought back to everything leading up to it. The kissing, the jokes, the serious mood. He remembered the pleasure he felt.

“The sex wasn’t. Today was. I wet the bed more than I have before. It got all over him but he didn’t care cause I can do no wrong, apparently.” He said sarcastically. Clint wrote some things down. “I couldn’t move and I broke down. I tried to talk through it but couldn’t say much. I had trouble looking at him.”

“When you looked at him, how did you feel?”

“Better. Not a lot or enough to make a huge difference, but a little bit better.” Again, Clint wrote.

“So, sex is out for a while?”

“Permanently. I can’t... With what they did and what I did with him, I can’t-”

“You can’t differentiate between the abuse and sex.” Mickey knew they’d gone over it a million times and he prayed that Clint wouldn’t scold him for being unable to differentiate. “You don’t have to have sex. There’s the good part. And from what I know, you’ve got a boyfriend that’s willing to do anything you ask him to in order to help with your recovery.” Mickey shook his head. “No?” He looked at Clint.

“I don’t want him anymore.” Clint looked stunned- a reaction Mickey was sure he was trained to have to hide.

“You don’t want him? Because of last night?”

“Because of this morning. Because of my reaction.” Mickey said, almost mumbling.

“You wanna speak up a little and elaborate?”

“He was crying. I scared him. He was covered in piss-” He stopped to think. “He’s too good. He’s too understanding and compassionate. He won’t ever tell me when enough is enough and I would spend the rest of our time together wondering if his words are true or not- if he’s really not at all bothered, or if he just wants to get away. I can’t have that. I can’t believe he wants to stay with me. It’s too much for anyone to handle, and he’s got more of it to handle than my own family. He’s got the most intimate parts of it to deal with. It’s not fair to make him feel obligated.”

“Who says he feel obligated? Did he say that? Did you overhear something?”

“No.”

“You know what that is, Mickey? That’s you and your self hatred.” Mickey stared at him. “You were beaten down so all you were good for was what they did to you. You’ve got the thoughts in your head that you’re nothing. You’re Not worth sticking around for, you’re not worth anyone’s love, and none of that is true. He wouldn’t have spent years feeling for you to just walk away for something he knew you were going through before you two even got together. You have to trust some things that people say. Mickey shook his head.

“I want him gone. I can’t handle the guilt every time this happens. I can’t handle this guilt. I can’t make him cry like this.”

“And where would he live?” Clint asked. It hadn’t been something that Mickey had thought about. It would be incredibly hard and awkward to be in the same apartment as Ian, so he spat out the first reasonable answer he could to avoid a guilt lecture about kicking Ian out.

“Iggy’s only around to make sure I get through all of this. If Ian and I aren’t together, I can move in with Iggs.” Clint nodded “You’re not giving any opinions.”

“Because my opinions are the opposite of your plan.” Mickey stared at him.

“Just say it.” Clint put his pen down and leaned back into his chair.

“My opinion is that you and I need to work on the rape vs. sex shit a little more. It’s not your fault that this happened, but maybe being pushy and vigorous with that, you’ll get a better mental understanding and be able to remind yourself if this ever happens again- that sex isn’t rape and rape isn’t sex. Go online and type in what you’re feeling- the physical part. Include that you got the pain after sex and I guarantee you will read story after story of other people feeling the same pain. It doesn’t help the fact that your body is telling your mind to panic, but your mind needs to know to understand the difference between actual harm and memories of harm.” Mickey nodded. “I believe ever since you and Ian became an item, you have been happier. You have been in less of a hurry to get it all done just to say that you’ve done it. I think he’s taught you patience and self worth. I don’t think he’s worth throwing away, which is essentially what you’d be doing.”

“He didn’t do anything to make me want to lose him. I have. I can’t do this to him anymore.” Mickey reminded.

“I can’t make decisions for you. I gave you my opinion and now it’s up to you to make the final decision.” Mickey nodded again and looked down. “Do you want to talk about the sex and how your mind was during it?” Mickey thought back and nodded.

“Um... I read articles and they told me what I needed to do before, and what to expect. All that.” Clint began writing. “Is that stupid?”

“Absolutely not. I think it’s a very mature way of going about it. You wanted answers and you found them. You did what you could to prepare yourself.”

“It told me to clean myself... Thoroughly?” Clint nodded, not looking up from his paper. “And um... It told me that before sex, sometimes people like... Stretch? To make it easier. Like with their hands- they stretch themselves out, or whoever they’re with does it as foreplay but I didn’t want him doing that so I did it myself in the shower.”

“Did you feel anything when you did it? Emotionally, I mean.” Mickey nodded.

“I felt wrong. Perverted, but I kept telling myself that it would make it easier, and it did, apparently. Just not good enough to not hurt me.” There was a pause as Clint finished up his writing and he looked at Mickey.

“If you’re feeling better, there’s eight more files to do. We could do half today and end it tomorrow.” It was a hard decision. One one hand, Mickey had just had a breakdown and was thinking of pushing away the only person aside from his family that had helped him through anything. On the other hand was his desire for it all to be over. It won.

“Yeah.” He watched Clint pull four files from the now tiny stack to the side of his desk. He opened one, and then the next, scanning them with his eyes while Mickey waited.

“The last eight involve other children. Two of these describe the same boy, but his name and details have been blacked out. Dark hair, Hispanic, he’s mentioned as the son of one of the men. The videos have you being assaulted- one is a rape and the other is forced oral sex. You were pre-warned before the acts that if you resisted at any time, or if you cried, they would break the boy’s fingers. By the end of the first, the boy had two broken fingers, and in the sencond, six, because you’d been gagged by their actions and threw up.” Mickey shook his head, not having anything in his current life that he could trace back to that occurrence. “Nothing?” He shook his head and Clint grabbed another file. “You’re raped by another boy a bit older than you in this one. It says you were both directed on what to do, you were both crying, and when the men got fed up, they took over on both of you.”

“I don’t like teenage boys.” Mickey said. Clint stared at him. “I don’t like seeing them, especially with their friends. I feel like I need to get away from them. I don’t know if it’s because of that- if the other kid was a teenager-”

“Fifteen.” Clint confirmed. Mickey nodded.

“Or it could just be because teenagers a fucking annoying monsters that nobody really likes.” Clint smiled and nodded.

“Could be that, too.” They were quiet for a moment and Mickey realized how antsy and nervous he was to see Ian. He’d felt like he was making the right decision and only hopeed that Ian felt the same way. “Are you good?”

“Better.” Mickey corrected. Clint nodded.

“Better enough for one more?” Mickey nodded and took his phone out of his pocket. It was a text from Ian. Checking it, all he saw was a photo of a puppy playing in a field. “Last one for today, the same teenage boy. You’re performing oral on him. He’s having trouble performing. At one point, he yells at one of the men and the video ends with him being taken away from you and thrown to the ground where he is beaten by three men until the video stops.” Mickey already had nothing to say, and he knew if he searched his mind for anything, he would still have nothing. It was pointless, so all he did was shake his head. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Clint nodded and wrote down in Mickey’s file.

“You’re antsy to leave.” Clint noted. Mickey nodded honestly. “We’ve covered the files and gone over what you’re feeling. You hopefully understand things a bit better and you seem to feel at least a little better than you did when you got here. You’re not lethargic anymore.” Mickey shook his head. “As always, I’m on call. If you feel comfortable doing so, text me to let me know how things with Ian go, whether good or bad, and remember to let me- or anyone- know when you feel like things are going to get bad while you’re still able to.”

“I know.” Mickey insisted. Clint nodded and stood up, giving Mickey the cue he’d been waiting for. They shook hands and he went out to his car, closing the door and opening his conversation with Ian.

_can we meet for lunch at the sandwich place in a few minutes?_

He put his phone down and started the car before his phone vibrated again. He checked it.

_Sure. I’ll be there in 10._

He didn’t bother responding. He just put his phone down and began driving. His mind raced, as it usually did, on the way to the restaurant and he quickly found parking and walked up to the restaurant only to find Ian already waiting, poking at a bread basket with a butter knife. Mickey climbed over the waist high gate that enclosed the “patio” dining area and sat down. Ian kept his eyes down, seeming to be scared of looking like he was waiting for an explanation. Mickey’s heart fell the instant he saw him, and he thought about backing out of his decision, but knew for the best of everyone, he had to press on with his original plan. When Ian finally looked up, he was staring at him. Mickey felt uncomfortable, but told himself he deserved just that for doing what he did to Ian that morning. His leg bounced up and down rapidly, the way Iggy’s and Mandy’s did when they were nervous- it was a family tic none of them were able to hide or control.

“I talked to Clint.” He saw relief was over Ian’s face as he perked up to listen. “I can’t stop doing the files, and I can’t not do the follow up appointments to go over what had happened and how to actually deal with it.” Ian nodded, genuinely agreeing with what Mickey was saying. It broke his heart even more. Mickey got tears in his eyes and shook his head. “I’ve never... I don’t feel like a whole person, if that makes sense. I feel like a puzzle with all these missing pieces and people look at me and don’t know what the hell to make of me because I’m not all there. So, I have to know everything. I have to learn everything there is to learn about what happened, no matter what it does to me, because then I’ll be whole. I’ll be done and know, and I’ll be a whole person.” He stared at the table, because it was easier than looking at Ian’s face. “I thought I was going to start those files so I could know everything and have a normal life- like there’d be a switch and I’d automatically understand who, what, when, where, and why. I thought if I knew those things, I could have a life and I could have relationships like everyone else gets to have, but that can’t be my reason for exposing myself to all this shit. I can’t do it, expecting anything out of it and neither can anyone else. Changing because of it is a pipe dream at this point- a hopeful one, but that’s all it is. All this could have no lasting effect. It could change me for the better, or knowing all of this could make it worse, but I have to do it.”

“I know.” Ian’s voice was barely above a whisper and it broke, though he showed no signs of crying. Mickey nodded.

“I can’t do what we’ve been doing.” Ian looked at him and Mickey felt choked up at the sight of tears forming at the corners of Ian’s eyes. The thought of losing what had made him feel so normal gave Mickey physical pain all over his body. “I cant go to therapy, hear all the shit I went through, and expect to come home to ou and be able to do it just because I breathe slow, or you tell me it’s okay. It doesn’t work that way.” Mickey looked away when he saw that Ian had finally started crying. “I also know that hearing what I’m gonna hear, and going home being left to deal with it is gonna be the hardest part of it cause every time I see myself in the mirror, I’m gonna fucking think about it.” His voice finally broke and he wiped his eyes. Ian did the same. “Every time I take a shower, every time I kiss you or touch you, I won’t be seeing or thinking about you. I’m gonna be fighting this and it’s not fair. What makes this worse is I know how you feel, and I know how much all of this is gonna hurt you and I’m so fucking sorry for dragging you in.” He bit his lip and looked away, to avoid an outburst like he’d had that morning. “All I want is something simple. I want to go to work at a shitty job I hate, come home to you and relax, but I don’t get to. I got a shitty deal and it’s gonna last a lifetime. No amount of encouragement, praise, or comforting words will make me just snap out of it. Not even coming from you. I wish it was like one of those shitty romance movies where someone’s fucked up and the hero comes in, fixes all the damage but life isn’t like that. You can’t fix this, no matter how badly either of us may want you to. I know you know that.” Ian nodded and wiped his eyes. “I’m hoping when all the pieces are put together, and I’m not missing anything, I can do something to handle everything I’ll know, but it’s not gonna happen any time soon. You can’t just spend your whole fucking life waiting for me when I may never be ready for you, Ian. You cant put your life on hold waiting for me.” Ian sat up straighter and shook his head.

“That’s the thing, though, I’m not putting anything on hold.” Mickey’s eyes were glued to him now. “Mickey, life is stop and go. You don’t put life on hold. You start it, you live it, you stop it. You stop things when you’re done with them, or you hang in there as long as you can and I’m not fucking done with you, yet.” Ian’s voice shook with emotion and Mickey couldn’t help but cry listening to the desperation in his voice. Ian took some deep breaths and wiped his eyes and cheeks, taking a moment to compose himself. “I spent so much time- so much fucking time, Mickey, you have no idea, just trying with everything in me not to fall for you. Whether it was because you were Mandy’s brother, or I know you were going through shit, I even thought about the fact that maybe you weren’t into guys. I was fucking fine not thinking about you. I would go about my life, go to my family, to the gym, whatever, and you left my mind completely. Then I’d walk through Mandy’s fucking door and there you were, doing absolutely nothing to get my attention, but you had it. Every time I saw you, you had every bit of it.” Ian was managing to make Mickey feel even worse. “Whatever we were or are didn’t start when you asked me for help, Mickey. Not for me. And it’s not gonna stop for me because whatever we were trying to have is gonna end. Just like I can’t walk in and fix you, you can’t just say some words and make me stop what I’m feeling. I can go my whole life keeping my hands off of you. I didn’t have that part of you before all this and I felt just as strongly about you.” Ian took a break from talking to drink some water and politely get the waitress to leave. He looked down at the table. “I’ll do whatever you want, alright? But I need you to know that wherever I am, and even if you don’t want me, you’re it for me. You and your fucked up head and your issues, there’s not ever going to be anyone better that you are for me. I could wake up every morning covered in piss and I wouldn’t care. You can have a breakdown every day, Mickey, I don’t give a shit, I’ll fucking be there. I want to be there. I want you to know someone besides your family is here for whatever you need. I don’t care how desperate it makes me sound because I’m extremely fucking desperate. I have to be. I can’t just sit here and nod and accept you dumping me because it’s not okay, I fucking love you.” Mickey stared at him as Ian took a breath and rubbed his hands over his face. He shook his head. “I’m 24. I know I haven’t experienced everything I’m supposed to, I know I haven’t met everyone I’m ever gonna meet, but I’ve known enough people and experienced enough and I’ve never felt this. It’s not because you’ve got a nice face or you cook me dinner, or even that you’re a fucking basket case just like me. It’s everything about you. How excited you get about Legos when we go to the store, the way you hold your pinky out when you’re drinking something, that stupid sound you make when you laugh too hard and you’re trying to breathe, how much you worried when you woke up and the sheets were wet- like after everything- after all of this- I’m suddenly going to think less of you, and it fucking hurts, you know? I don’t even want to tell you because I don’t want to add more shit to what you’re dealing with, but the way you seem to think that I’m just going to get fed up and walk away-”

“That’s how I am, Ian.”

“Well that’s not how I am.” Ian said sternly. “You’re not a fucking fling to me. I’m not going to run off in the middle of the night the second things get hard. You keep telling me it’s not fair to me- that you’re putting me through shit that I don’t need to be a part of, but I could walk away any time I want. I’m here, though. You’re not putting me through anything, I want to be here. I want to go through all of this with you. I don’t want to be fucking dumped for my own good, Mickey, _that’s_ not fucking fair.” Mickey ducked his head down and started looking at his nails. “If this is all just you trying to get rid of e, I need you to say it. If you want me gone, you gotta grow some balls and say the words, cause I don’t take hints.” Mickey shook his head and they were both silent for a minute. “This has to stop. you assuming I’m going to leave, thinking you’re gonna come home and tell me what happened to you, only to have me get grossed out and not want to touch you.” He shook his head. “You can’t just assume you know what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling. You can’t end this because of that. You have to have a better reason. If you’re not ready, it’s okay. I can handle backing off for your sake, but don’t bother backing off for mine, cause I don’t want you to.”

“I don’t want you to back off.” Mickey admitted.

“Then how many times are we going to do this, Mickey?” Ian asked, sounding upset. “Why can’t you just accept the fact that you’re fucked up, and I’m fucked up, and for whatever reason, we work well together? Stop searching for reasons why you don’t deserve to be happy.”

“I can’t help what I’m feeling. I feel this way. I’m working on not feeling this way, but for now I do. I think it’s bullshit that you’re 100% okay with just hanging out til I get my shit together. People don’t just get into relationships to read books together and I know that. I don’t mean you’re lying, but what’s the difference? What’s different between what we were before and what we are now?”

“I don’t have to pretend like I don’t give a shit about you now, that’s what! Jesus Christ, Mickey, you’ve got this fucking ridiculous desire to be normal and you have no fucking clue what that is. Relationships aren’t just one thing or another! It’s not all G-rated buddy/buddy fun time, and it’s not 24/7 fucking all day, alright? Relationships can exist without sex.”

“Can you?” Mickey asked, honestly curious.

“For you, yes. Get the idea of me running off with the first guy who offers to blow me out of your fucking head cause I’m fucking better than that.” Mickey felt a shock of guild spread through his body that was worse than the guild he’d felt earlier that day. Ian was right. Mickey had this idea in his head that Ian would leave the second someone better came along. He never considered the fact that doing so showed a lack of faith in one of the only people that had stuck by him. He shook his head.

“I know you’re better than that. I wasn’t thinking of it like that.”

“No, you were thinking about yourself.” This was the first time Mickey had ever seen Ian mad, and he didn’t like it. “There’s another thing about relationships- you got someone else to think about and consider now. If you’re going to assume things about me, Mickey, assume them based on what I’ve already done, not on shit that might or could happen, cause it hasn’t happened and most likely never will. If you assume things based on how I’ve already been toward you, nothing bad’s gonna come from it.” Mickey nodded.

“I know.”

“We’re together, alright? Ad that means I’m gonna yell at you, and you’re gonna yell at me, we’re gonna scream and fight, then we’re going to cool down and fucking work on what’s wrong. We’re not gonna be cuddling in your bedroom all the time, but it’s gonna be good- It can be good if you fucking help me make it that way.” Mickey wiped his eyes again and took a minute to compose himself before he spoke.

“I don’t want to make excuses. I’ve never done this before. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to do this. I’m working on myself but there’s still shit in my head that tells me that I’m everything bad. There’s times when I’m not feeling good, that I believe all that shit. When I fall into that... I don’t deserve anything. I’m nothing, and nobody wants me. No matter how much people show it, my mind just works overtime to find a way that they could be bullshitting me. My head’s doing that with you. I keep telling myself you’re fucking with me cause I can’t be this lucky. I don’t deserve it.” He began crying again and Ian grabbed him, pulling him to his feet and hugging him tightly. “It all goes back to me- all this shit. I feel like I’m dragging you through hell with me, and that you feel obligated to hang around so that’s what this was about. I was trying to give you a guilt free way of getting out. I didn’t mean to assume you were a piece of shit that would just run of with whoever and I’m sorry if that’s how I made you feel.” Ian nodded.

“It’s alright, Mickey.” He paused for a minute. “I have torn myself up trying to figure out how to make you believe me when I tell you that I’m here because I want to be here, but I can’t. It’s not my job to make you believe it, Mickey, it’s your job to trust that I’m telling the truth. That’s what this all boils down to. My words have to be more believable to you than the bullshit going through your head. I’m not leaving.” Mickey nodded and stood there, enjoying the too-tight grip Ian had on him. His plan hadn’t worked, but for the first time in his life, he was glad his plans fell to shit.


	24. Chin Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry about how late this is. My internet's being mega not cool right now but I can use my phone to upload chapters so it should be quicker for the next one, which I'm 95% sure will be the last chapter. Give me a little time to figure out how to wrap all this up. Not like a month or anything, just, you know... Time...

_“Back to where we started_  
 _Losing who we were_  
 _Everybody knows that_  
 _You’d break your neck_  
 _To keep your chin up.”_  
-Copeland, _“Chin Up”_

  
When they got home, nobody was there and they decided that sitting on the couch, watching boring movies on Netflix that they’d never heard of, and eating popcorn was the safest and least stressful thing either of them could do. Neither of them said a word the entire time they sat there, they simply enjoyed the lack of conversation and focused on the movies. By the time Mandy got home with hamburgers for everyone, the two of them were slouched down with their feet on the table amongst bowls of popcorn kernels and empty beer bottles.

“I’m not the house bitch, you better clean that shit up.” Ian sat up straight and saluted her.

“Sir, yes sir.” He elbowed Mickey and the two of them got up to eat.

“Where’s Iggy?” Mickey asked, noticing there were only three burgers.

“He picked up some set of tits and decided to roll around in crabs tonight. He’ll be back with antibiotics tomorrow.” Ian smiled and shook his head.

“I love you.” He said. Mandy smiled and sat down with them at the table. They made small talk, not mentioning the conversation the two of them had had earlier that day, and if Mandy noticed something different about them, she didn’t say anything. After dinner, she took a bowl of ice cream to her room and that was the last the two of them saw of her. “You know,” Ian began, holding a can of whipped cream. “Someday, I’m going to put this on your junk and lick it off.” He informed, casually. Mickey shook his head.

“Not if you call it my ‘junk’, you won’t.”

“I will, you’ll see. The act satisfies the inner fat, horny child in all of us. It’s glorious.” Mickey tried not to think about Ian doing the act to someone else, or having it done to him. He reminded himself that the past is the past and Ian never judged him for his so he had no right to judge Ian. “Wheels are turning.” Ian said, sitting down and sliding a half-assed sundae in front of Mickey, who scooped up some whipped cream with his spoon and eyeballed it. “One time.” He looked at Ian. “I did it one time. Stop dwelling on it. It wasn’t even a relationship.” Mickey nodded. “Besides, there’s tons of stuff I’ve never done that you’re gonna be my first for.”

“Might be a while.” Mickey muttered, stabbing his ice cream with his spoon.

“I got hands til then. Have you ever sat on your hand til it falls asleep and jerked off? It’s like someone else is doing it.” Mickey stared at him.

“Do you have an ounce of seriousness in you at all?” Ian shook his head.

“Drained it all out at lunch. You’re stuck with a sarcastic prick for, like, a week.” Mickey couldn’t help but smile. They were quiet for a couple minutes, eating their ice cream and letting their minds wander until Mickey spoke up.

“Can you not get mad or think too much about it if I ask something?” Ian’s face fell a little, but not enough to give him a negative expression.

“Go for it.” Mickey pushed his empty bowl away.

“Can we not...” He struggled for a way to say what he wanted to say without sounding like a dick. “Can we sleep in our own rooms tonight?” He asked, relieved at the small smile that came to Ian’s face.

“You were scared to ask me that? Of course. After what just happened, I figured you would need some space.”

“Okay, thanks. What time is it?”

“Ten thirty.” Ian mumbled, looking at his phone and ignoring the text messages waiting for him on his screen.

“I have therapy in the morning. Last files. They’re supposed to be the worst.”

“I’ll drive you.” Ian insisted, and this time, Mickey accepted the offer to help. “You gotta get to sleep. I changed your bed.” Mickey looked at him, annoyed. “I had to, alright? If you’re that serious about it, I won’t do it again. And to get me back, you can fold my underwear. Nobody folds my underwear, I fucking hate it when they do.” Mickey grabbed both of their bowls and stood up.

“Let me know when laundry day is.” Ian nodded and stood as well, waiting for Mickey to rinse the bowls out so they could walk to the hall together. Once Ian’s room was reached, he grabbed Mickey’s head and kissed him on the temple.

“Goodnight.” Mickey nodded.

“Night.”

“What time tomorrow?” Ian asked, opening his door.

“Early. 8.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“See ya.” Mickey said, walking to his room. They ran into each other one more time while brushing their teeth and afterward, Mickey gave him a proper kiss before they parted ways again. Once Mickey was in his room, reality sunk in and he realized that the worst of the worst would be revealed when he woke up. He didn’t want to sleep because it meant morning would get there faster, but he was exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster the day had turned into. He crawled into bed and realized that Ian hadn’t fitted his bed with the usual sheet and throw blanket. He’d gone all the way with fitted sheets, even more sheets, a heavy comforter, and a throw on top of it, and as he sunk lower and pulled the comforter up to his chin, he realized what he had been missing. It was the most comfortable his bed had ever been, and he knew that part of that had to do with the fact that Ian had done it. His thoughts had lifted and it was with nothing but comfort that he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

He had been right. Morning came quickly when you fall asleep and it was time to get up, get ready, and go. Once he got dressed, he walked down the hall, smelling breakfast.

“Mickey- Mickey look how astronomically gay he is. Look how gay.” Mickey looked at the pan and saw that Ian was making heart shaped pancakes. “He made his own syrup, Mick. He’s like a den mother.”

“Pretty gay, Ian.” Mickey agreed. Ian raised his eyebrows and pointed at his creations with a spatula.

“ _This_ makes me gay? _This_ , though? None of that other stuff?” He asked, turning the spatula to point at Mickey, who smiled and walked to the coffee pot. “Motherfucker, I burned it.” Mickey looked back to see Ian scraping a burnt pancake out of the pan. “Here, Mandy. You can have this burnt pancake to match your cold, black heart you bitch.”

“Don’t think I won’t eat it.” She said, taking the plate, along with another non-burned pancake. Mickey poured some coffee and leaned against the counter, his eyes going from his sister to his boyfriend.

“Eat.” Mandy ordered.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Therapy.” Ian explained, not feeling it was his place to elaborate.

“Last files.” Mandy stared at him for a few seconds and dropped her head to her food, eating a little faster.

“That’s good, right? It’ll be over? Hearing everything, I mean.” Mickey nodded.

“Yeah I’m just nervous.” Mandy nodded and got up, half her pancakes getting dumped in trash.

“I gotta clean my room.” She said,rushing off.

“It’s 7am!” Mickey called, confused. Ian shrugged and used the last of the batter to make more pancakes than either of them to eat, so he bagged them and stuck them in the freezer. By the time Ian got dressed and they brushed their teeth, it was time for them to go. The trip was the shortest Mickey had ever experienced and it seemed like they had gotten to the office in record time. They were even early and forced to wait, though neither of them spoke to pass the time. It was a comfortable silence that Mickey was grateful for.

“Mickey?” He jumped and stood up, walking to the office without acknowledging Ian. Once the door was closed, he sat down on the couch and put his head down. Clint walked to his desk and sat down, four red tagged files stacked in front of him. “Finishing today?” He nodded. “I see Ian’s here.”

“Yeah he’s persuasive. I got work to do on myself.”

“Naturally.” Mickey sat up a little straighter.

“How do I stop doubting things he says? Like, I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean no matter what he says about wanting to be with me, I don’t believe him. It’s hard for me to believe him. He told me that his words need to mean more to me than the bullshit going through my head, and he’s right. I just don’t know how.” Clint nodded and wrote something down.

“Look at his track record. What has he done to make you not trust him? How many times has he lied to you?” Mickey put some thought into it and shook his head.

“He hasn’t.” Clint pointed his pencil at him.

“Start with that. Remember that he’s got no reason to lie. You gave him an out, right?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t want it. He actually got hurt when I told him he could go if he wanted.

“Naturally.”

“Yeah...”

“How do you feel now that everything is out in the open? That after today, you’re going to know what happened over a long period of time you haven’t been able to remember?” He thought about it and his mind raced in circles, driving him crazy the way his positive and negative thoughts overlapped.

“Scared. I’m scared of what I’ll be like if Ian and I don’t work out and he leaves. I don’t know what I would do or how I would deal with it. I’m scared of those-” He pointed to the folders. “I’m scared of what’s in them” Clint nodded.

“I’ll just say that I’m happy someone else is driving.”

“Can we do it? Please? I just want it over.” Clint paused and for a second, Mickey thought he was going to protest, but he didn’t.

“Get comfortable. There’s four.” Mickey watched him pick one up that had a “1“ written on the tag. He watched Clint’s eyes as he scanned the folder. “Video starts on a boy, he appears to be 5 years old. He’s standing naked, his side to the camera as a man comes into the scene and begin fellating the boy, who doesn’t react. It says the man stops and pulls you in.” Mickey shook his head and leaned forward, his hands on his knees and his face in his hands as he started to cry. “He instructs you do do the same, and you do. It goes on for five minutes before you’re pulled off of him.” Clint looked and saw Mickey hiding his face and crying.

“No.” He said.

“You want to stop?” Mickey didn’t respond for a minute until he finally stopped crying and lifted his head.

“So I’m just as fucking bad as they were.”

“You were a ten-year-old boy being told to do something you didn’t understand and you did it to avoid the punishments you knew you received. You were too young to understand the damage you could’ve been doing. You didn’t walk up to a child, pull his pants down, and sexually abuse him. You were an instrument they used time and time again, this is no different.” Mickey sat, his eyes red Clint stared at him and took the next two files.

“In these you’re asked to do the same thing to the same boy, and you say no.” He held up one of the files, marked with a “2“ on the tag. “In this one, they beat you unconscious and perform the act on him anyway while you lay on the floor bloody next to him.” Mickey stared at the file until Clint lowered it and lifted the one marked “3“. “You refuse again. You ask for him to be let go. They killed him in front of you.” Mickey felt a painful rush go through his body, starting at his feet and causing instant tears. “You tried to do good, you tried to help that boy, and they weren’t having it.” He tossed the file aside. “You cannot feel like a monster because you did things more disgusting monsters made you do. You have, and have always had, a good heart that is fucking searching for peace. It always has been, even then. In that file, there is page up on page of what is being said, and not once do you mention anything about yourself, except to promise to do with they said if they let that boy go home. You didn’t ask for anything for yourself. You tried, Mickey, but trying doesn’t always work, and sometimes it’s not our fault when our trying goes up in flames. You’re not responsible for that boy, you’re not to blame for what they made you do to him, and you’re not responsible for anything they did to you. Understand?” Mickey hesitated, but nodded. After giving Mickey a few minutes to calm down, Clint pulled the “4“ folder to himself.

“Last one?” Mickey asked, terrified and relieved at the same time. Clint nodded and bit his lip.

“Mick, this one is last for a reason. When I read it, I tried to figure out what the blacked out areas said, but couldn’t. The structure of the sentences, your actions, everything all lead to one thing. So I called your sister in and had a talk with her.”

“She’s in it?” Clint nodded and Mickey hid his face again, breathing deep and slow to keep from crying.

“She gave me permission to tell her part of it, cleared some things up so the actual file made sense..”

“Read it. Just do it cause if you ask me again, I’m gonna say no, so read it. Clint nodded and opened it.

“It starts with you crying, reaching for her, but she’s standing with her back to you and she’s just out of your reach. You’re begging her to stay with you, but she doesn’t. She goes to a man named Dennis Banks. She takes her clothes off and he proceeds to rape her. The video ends with her crying and telling him to stop at least four times.”

He felt numb, and couldn’t find it in himself to speak, so instead, he got up and walked out the door.

“Jesus, Mickey-” Clint said, following him. Ian got to his feet and sprinted to catch up. “Mickey she-” Mickey slammed the door in his face and locked it after Ian got in and drove away. Ian noted that Mickey looked livid. He would explode any minute, and he just wanted to get him home as soon as possible. When they got to the apartment, Mickey walked through the door with Ian following closely behind, standing by the door as he shut it gently. Iggy was at the table, going through his phone while Mandy was washing dishes.

“Hey, how’d it go?” She asked, and he could tell she already knew the answer.

“Finished.” He said simply, his voice low.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Mickey shook his head

“No, it wasn’t good. You were in this one.” Mandy put the dish she had been washing down gently in the sink and bowed her head as if she’d been expecting him to find out.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you wanna know what it said?” Mandy shook her head, picking up the dish and picking up where she left off.

“Already know what it said.” Mickey’s anger was getting stronger.

“You wanna give me a little insight on it, then? He asked. Again, she shook her head, keeping her back to him.

“Not really, no.”

“No?” Mickey nearly yelled. Mandy turned to face him.

“That’s what I fucking said.” She spat back, with just as much bite.

“So you don’t want to explain to me why you chose them instead of me even though they fucked you, too?”

Iggy grabbed Ian’s arm tight and dragged him out the front door, shutting the door behind them.

“Those files don’t tell the whole story, Mickey, you can’t get mad at me for-”

“Sorry, but I’m really fucking mad.”

“Well you don’t fucking get to be!” She yelled in his face, throwing the dish she’d been washing on the ground so it shattered. She shook her head. “You don’t get to be mad at me for what happened to me. It was about me, Mickey, not you.” The venom in her voice told him to back off, but he didn’t and he let her get right in his face.

“I go to that fucking office every day, and I hear shit that literally makes me so sick, I actually throw up. After everything I’ve heard, to hear that despite everything they’d done to me, you go to them and leave me there.”

“I told you that fucking file doesn’t tell the whole story. I fucking read it and I’ve-”

“Oh, you read it? You read it and you’ve been seeing me every day, not feeling even a little desire to tell me? Nothing?”

“It’s not my job to tell you.”

“No, it’s some guy in an office lined with framed diplomas to tell me after I swipe my credit card, right?”

“Yeah, it fucking is.” She replied defiantly.

“That’s awesome, Mandy. That’s so great that you feel like leaving your family’s well being in the hands of a stranger is a better idea than sitting me down and explaining yourself to me.” Mandy’s eyebrows raised higher than Mickey thought possible.

“Explain myself? I don’t have to fucking explain myself!”

“No?” He asked. She put her hand on his chest and shoved him.

“You wanna explain yourself every time you make a fucked up decision because of what happened to you?”

“If I chose rapists over family, I would feel like it’s necessary.” She nodded, fed up, and crossed her arms, leaning against the counter.

“Okay, then, Mickey. Tell me what you heard.” She said, forcing her voice to stay calm.

“I was begging for you and you acted like I wasn’t even there. You just went to them. You picked them.”

“Picked them for what?” She asked, knowing he had no answer, but she let him struggle looking for one. She sounded disgusted by him. “Why’d I go to them, Mickey?” She asked, louder and standing up straight as her arms unfolded. She looked like she was going to attack. “Tell me what I had to pick one of you for.” He stared at her. “Yeah, it must be nice to not remember. See, Mickey, I don’t get that luxury.” She said threateningly as she stepped closer. I don’t get to have my fucking head forget things for me, I gotta live with them every day. So, since that file told you everything you feel you need to know in order to come in here and come at me like I’m some fucking cunt who doesn’t give a shit about you, tell me what the fuck I picked them for.” She was crying now, more from rage than anything else, and Mickey saw her body shake with restraint as her hands balled up into white knuckled fists. “You wanna know what that was all about, Mickey? You wanna know what they said to me before the cameras turned on? “ Mickey took a step back, regretting saying a word, but Mandy wouldn’t allow it. She stepped forward to follow him. “It was my birthday, Mickey, I was 9. Guess what Dad’s gift to me was.” Mickey looked away and shook his head. “I got to pick from any of his friends to ‘make me a woman’.” She said, using her fingers to make air quotes. Mickey blinked and tears fell. “Any one of his friends- or you.” He looked at her in shock and she nodded, smiling. “Yeah, you were an option, but it had to be them, Mickey, I turned my back on you and I walked right into what I knew I couldn’t get out of. You wanna know why?” Mickey wiped his eyes and Mandy shoved him hard into the fridge. “Because I fucking needed you. There wasn’t a time in all my life at that point that I’d felt safe except with you, and if I chose you, I’d hate you just like I hated them and I’d have nothing- no brother, no hope, no fucking reason to wake up in the morning and I would let every single man in that room that day do whatever they wanted, because I didn’t pick you and you were still there. And after all that- all the fucking shit that happened, I got in bed with you, and you pinned me between the wall and you, and you were just there like I needed you to be, and I still felt safe. That’s why you can’t get fucking mad at me!” Her voice broke and Mickey tried to grab her, only to get shoved away. He tried again and she let him, burying her eyes in his shoulder. Mickey was shocked and overcome with guilt and shame.

“I’m sorry.” He said. She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I got angry and I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have-”

“You did. It’s over. You know now and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She let go of him and went right to picking up the broken glass. Mickey knelt down to help her and swept once the big pieces were picked up. Iggy and Ian arrived shortly after, peeking their heads in to make sure it was clear before barging in. Neither Mickey nor Mandy said a word about what happened, they each just walked with their heads down in silence the rest of the day, and with good reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I hurt her. Please let me know what you think.


	25. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. A lot has happened to make me put this story aside, I did not spend all the time away writing. This chapter is actually relatively short, but I've finished it.
> 
> I'm terrified of your opinions, as if everything was leading to the end, and it's like Dexter. Like, what the fuck?
> 
> I don't want that.
> 
> After you read the chapter, read the ending notes on the story. Hopefully they will help with understanding why this ended the way it did.

"I've grown familiar  
With villains that live in my head  
They beg me to write them  
So I'll never die when I'm dead  
I'm bigger than my body  
I'm colder than this home  
I'm meaner than my demons  
I'm bigger than these bones"

-Halsey, "Control"

 

It didn’t matter how much he tried, there was no consistency when it came to the way Mickey’s mind seemed to handle the situations he put himself in. There were no guarantees or even much confidence that he’d be alright. As days passed since finishing the files, he’d come to associate sleeping alone with failure, and he felt guilt and shame every time he felt the need to spend the night by himself. Ian gave him what he wanted and Mickey wondered if he’d been taking advantage of his boyfriend. Using him, in a sense. The feelings were there, and they were stronger than any Mickey had ever felt. He was comfortable with Ian, trusted him, and it even went so far that he considered it love. There were just times he fell back a few steps.

It had been a week since the files were done, and he’d spent the day shopping for new clothes, since Mandy took his clothes from the dryer and saw the holes in his boxers. She’d advised him to “grow the fuck up” and “get big boy panties”, so he took her suggestion and bought boxer briefs. Next, he went for his usual tank tops, straying from the white and going for the gray and black- a small change, but a change nonetheless. Jeans were purchased in the size that actually fit him, rather than the two size too big pants he usually got and he’d’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t spent a significant amount of time in the dressing room admiring how good his ass looked in the jeans. He bought five of them. After some button up shirts, which Ian seemed to like so much, likely due to the torturously slow pace he had when he unbuttoned Mickey’s shirts and the anticipation it caused.

That night, Mandy had some friends over to drink and socialize, so Ian and Mickey stayed in Mickey’s room. Mickey was staring at a book he hadn’t read one sentence from while Ian relaxed on his stomach in front of the bed playing with the Nintendo that he’d brought over.

“Ian?”

“Hmmm?” Ian asked, not looking away from the TV. Mickey bit his lip, wondering just how the fuck he was supposed to drop hints.

“I got new underwear.” Ian let out a short laugh.

“Yeah? Finally?” Mickey looked at him.

“I’m wearing them now if you... You wanna check them out.” He heard the ding of the pause button and Ian slowly sat up and faced him.

“You want me to get on you?” Mickey felt his cheeks heat up and he smiled, looking away. “You don’t have to buy new underwear, Mick, just make a move. You think I’d turn you down?”

“You never turn me down.” Ian shook his head.

“Part of my shitty issues. I’m kind of always up for it. We’re trying to find drugs to calm me down a little.” Mickey stared at him. “Oh, yeah, I jerk off a lot. Like, a lot.” Mickey felt guilty again and bowed his head down to look at his fidgeting fingers. “I’m extremely good at jerking off. I enjoy jerking off. Don’t look upset.”

“Can I give you a blowjob?” Mickey asked quickly. Ian stared at him for a few seconds before responding.

“No.” Mickey’s cheeks heated up more and he nodded, looking back down. “I just told you I jerk off cause I’m basically always horny, and you got your issues with feeling guilty for not having sex with me as much as you think we should be. You’re offering the blowjob out of guilt and I don’t want it. Am I right?” Mickey’s eyes started stinging with tears and he nodded. “You really want to do it, do it. Do whatever you want, but don’t do it out of obligation, Mick. I can handle waiting for you. I can’t handle you hurting yourself for me.” Mickey bit his lip and looked at him. “You still want me to see your underwear?” Mickey smiled and nodded, prompting Ian to get up and get on the bed. He put his hand on Mickey’s chest and shoved him down, straddling his thighs. He leaned forward and kissed him slowly. It was soft and deep, and loving. He let his teeth graze Mickey’s bottom lip before moving down to his throat. Mickey closed his eyes, deciding to just let Ian do whatever he wanted and telling him to stop if he had to. Ian’s lips made contact with his shoulder, and down to his collarbone, leaving wet spots trailing down. He lifted Mickey’s shirt off of him. He avoided Mickey’s nipples and moved down to his jeans. He pulled the top of his jeans down and smiled. “Boxer briefs.” He noted. He tore Mickey’s pants open and pulled them down. Ian smiled and moved back up, kissing Mickey again. “Pretty excited huh?” Mickey nodded and leaned up to kiss him again, but Ian backed up just enough for their lips to brush each other, then he leaned down and kissed him harder. He slid his knee between Mickey’s leg and smiled into the kiss as Mickey’s hips lifted to make contact. Ian pulled back and got off the bed, walking to the door and locking it. He shoved his pajama pants off and got on the bed in his underwear, positioning himself so their legs were settled and they could grind into each other. He rolled his hips against Mickey, making him moan. “We’re gonna ruin your underwear.” Mickey nodded.

“Do it.” He pulled Ian back down and kissed him, not thinking about the fact that he felt fine. It was something he realized earlier and found unfair- that there were times when they were together and there were no flashbacks or body memories, but those moments were ruined the second he realized they were happening. He had his peace at times, but couldn’t wallow in it without losing it. His focus was on Ian. His focus was on what was happening between them, and the pressure and cotton rubbing against him, it was on Ian’s foot digging into his calf and the noises he was making. It was the sped up breath and the way Ian buried his face in Mickey’s neck and kissed him, biting him a little and whispering to him. It hit him then. It was nothing Ian had done wrong, just everything he did. Everything was perfect. Everything felt good, and the small nagging voice in the back of his head that he would’ve given anything to get rid of told him it shouldn’t. He shouldn’t enjoy it.

But it was Ian.

It didn’t matter.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side that Ian buried his face, forcing him to move his head up. The second he saw Mickey’s face, he knew. He got up and pulled the blanket up for Mickey to cover himself, which he was grateful for. He remained on his back, looking anywhere but at Ian, wishing his body would just calm down, but it always took time. He knew not to apologize. It pissed Ian off when he did, even though it was basically a reflex.

“Duck Hunt?” Ian asked. Mickey finally looked at him. Ian held up an orange and gray plastic gun with a cord coming out of the bottom, which was plugged into the Nintendo.

“How do you do that?” He asked, his voice monotone, as if he were exhausted. Ian looked at the gun.

“Aim and shoot.” He explained. Mickey shook his head and sat up.

“Change the subject.” Ian looked confused.

“Comic books?” He asked meekly.

“I meant how do you change the subject like that? Just go from what we were doing to fucking Duck Hunt.” Ian looked somewhat confused.

“Because you need me to?” Mickey stared at him and Ian actually looked uncomfortable, like he was scared of being scolded or he’d done something wrong. “So far, every time I’ve done it, you start laughing like you feel better. It doesn’t do any good to just sit here and dwell on it, does it?” Mickey didn’t respond and Ian shrugged his shoulders. “So, you change the subject, you think of something else that has nothing to do with all the shit that’s bothering you. It seems like it cuts it off, you know? Like you’re crying and... Maybe I can do or say something stupid so you think about that instead.” Mickey shook his head.

“Fuck you, Ian.” He said quietly, wiping his eyes. Ian looked hurt. “God you just... You fucking know, you know?” Ian shook his head slowly. “You know how to deal with this shit. Cause it’s true. It helps and...” Ian smiled, feeling relieved. “It’s like... I mean... I think I’ve always needed you. Someone like you. I think my life would’ve been a lot easier if you’d been in it the whole time.” Ian bit his lip, staring up at him.

“You already know I wanted you sooner than I got you.”

“Yeah. I still don’t get why. I wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

“It was your ass.” Ian said, leaning back on the floor and resting on his elbows.

“My ass, huh?” Ian nodded.

“Sometimes I dropped things on purpose.”

“You didn’t.” Ian nodded.

“Mandy’s tuna noodle casserole? Loosened the handle on the pan with a screwdriver so it’d drop when she carried it. You took the bait. I saw your ass crack that day. It was glorious. My heart broke when you got the Swiffer.” Mickey couldn’t help but laugh, which caused Ian to do the same. Mickey’s doorknob rattled and Mandy pounded on it. Mickey looked at Ian who reached over, staying on the ground, and unlocked it. She peeked her head in.

“We have so much alcohol. Drink it.”

“Can’t.” They said in unison.

“Fine. There’s Chex Mix. Would you like some or is it too hardcore for you?”

“Is it the kind with peanut butter?”

“No, it’s the pretzel kind.” He shook his head.

“Too hardcore.” Mickey smiled and looked at his sister.

“Fine, read your fuckin books like the losers you are. Nice boner, Ian.”

“Thank you.” Ian said, poking the bulge in his underwear with his index finger.

“Fucking gross.” Mandy mumbled, slamming the door to return to her friends.

“She’s so fun.” Ian said. Mickey smiled and yawned, causing Ian to do the same. “Bed?” Mickey nodded and Ian got up, pulling his pants back on. He rolled the Nintendo cords around the controllers and tucked it all neatly under Mickey’s TV. “You wanna meet in my room or meet in the morning?” Mickey thought about it. He still had a bit of the guilt swimming around, and he knew it had the ability to grow into a worse attack.

“Morning? I’ll make eggs.” Ian nodded and walked over to him. He kissed the top of his head.

“Goodnight. You know where I am if you need anything.”

“What am I gonna need?” Mickey asked.

“A joke. Maybe a warm glass of milk or a picture of my dick?” Mickey shook his head. “It’s gonna happen eventually. When I’m not terrified of triggering you, you’re getting the full monty. All of it.”

“Can’t wait.” Mickey mumbled. He fixed his pillows and pulled the sheets up from where they were bunched up at the foot of the bed.

“See you in the morning. Love you.” Ian said. It was still new. Still a strange thing to say, but he couldn't not say it back. It was true. He did love him.

"Love you, too." Mickey smiled at him and watched him leave. He pulled his blanket up and slid his hand between his legs, happy that the initial discomfort had gone away. Closing his eyes, his mind ran in circles as it always did, remembering how he had been and how he currently was. He remembered back to when Clint made the suggestion of asking Ian and how outrageous it seemed, but now... Now he had him. Mickey had never been raised in an environment that boosted self esteem, and he wasn’t sure he deserved much of what he had. There was a man who said all the right things at all the right times, and who was selfless and funny. He was so beautiful that people paid just to be near him, and he could’ve had any of them.

He chose Mickey. He chose Mickey despite the bed wetting, the violent outbursts, the fear of sex, the mood swings- all of it. He accepted it. He could’ve had anyone, and he spent his time on the floor of Mickey’s room playing video games because he just wanted to be around him. It was unfathomable to Mickey. There wasn’t’ a part of his racing brain that could pick up a logical reason except love. Ian loved him, he’d said it when they had fought. He could’ve left, or said no at the very beginning, but he didn’t. He was punched, blamed, filled with guilt, on edge- all of it and it was because of Mickey. It didn’t make him love him any less. If anything, after a setback, Ian was more present. He was more helpful.

As for his siblings, he learned that Iggy would make a pest of himself shamelessly, he would ditch work, and he would beat the shit out of anyone that hurt either of his younger siblings. The time he spent, the talks they had, and just knowing that, though he had a life of his own, which he actually enjoyed, he left it all without hesitation in order to be in the same apartment with Mickey just in case he needed him. Iggy was tough, but he was the only family member aside from Mandy who showed any sort of intentions to parent him. Mickey would never say it, but it was appreciated.

With Mandy, their secrets were out. He had learned that though her experiences weren’t on the same level as his, she was traumatized. He saw it come out of her when she got violent after his outburst. His sister wasn’t fine, she was coping, and even her methods failed at times, she just kept it to herself. Now he knew, and he had a lot more respect for her and looked up to her strength. It inspired him to move forward, not to sit on his ass and wait for things to get better.

He wanted a job, he wanted to go out more, he wanted to go places with Ian, Mandy, and Iggy. Museums, clubs, movies, shows, whatever. He just wanted change, and he knew he had to work hard for it. They were all there, though, and no matter what direction he fell, there wasn’t a single shred of a doubt that one of them would catch him and help him back upright. He didn’t feel alone anymore, and he knew there would be times that he did, but they were there, and just seeing them would remind him of how lucky he was.

He got up out of bed and opened his door, heading straight down the hall to Ian’s room. He opened the door and shut it when he entered before walking over to the bed and lifting the blanket, sliding under it. Ian smiled, his eyes still closed, and pulled him close until Ian’s bicep was being used as a pillow and their arms and legs were tangled with each other. They were quiet. It had happened earlier in the week that Mickey tried to fall asleep with Ian’s arms around him. It ended with wet sheets and bruises, yet here Ian was, just happy that he was there. Neither knew how they would wake up in the morning- wet or dry. Mickey might’ve had nightmares that cause him to hurt Ian, but none of it mattered. Mickey just stared at Ian’s chest, noticing nearly invisible hairs sporadically sticking out of his chest. He nervously started playing with them, keeping his eyes down. He would fall asleep. The warmth of Ian’s body and the smell of his shampoo and body wash calmed him, even when he woke up terrified.

He didn’t say anything, he just slowly closed his eyes, drifting off. It could happen. He knew it could happen and he would wake up soaked, but Ian also knew. He knew and he didn’t care. There was no disgust, no judgment, and all of it together calmed his anxiety enough for him to enjoy being held. Having Ian’s arms around him was Mickey’s favorite feeling. He felt safe, loved, and proud, and he’d been feeling those feelings a lot more lately, hopefully to continue the trend and have the bad feelings wiped away completely.

He knew he could do it. He wasn’t alone, so of course he could do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No amount of encouragement, praise, or comforting words will make me just snap out of it. Not even coming from you. I wish it was like one of those shitty romance movies where someone’s fucked up and the hero comes in, fixes all the damage but life isn’t like that. You can’t fix this, no matter how badly either of us may want you to. I know you know that." - Mickey
> 
> There is no cure for trauma. There's no pills to fix everything that's wrong with a person that comes with a guarantee that their problems will never come back.
> 
> People are not fixed, they get better.
> 
> There is no happy resolution to this story, and I'm well aware of the importance and enjoyment of those kinds of endings, but this one couldn't have it. It couldn't have a solution.
> 
> I tried to write it as real as I could, and to make the last chapter ~Two Months Later~ and opening on a sex scene where Mickey is fine would be the worst thing I could do. Nothing is that easy.
> 
> He'll wake up every day and he'll take a step forward. He'll continue doing that, moving forward, until he falls back again, then he gets picked up and dusted off so he can try again.
> 
> That's it.
> 
> The resolution is a strong family unit, a loving patient boyfriend, a therapist that understands him, and a desire to try anything and everything to become better than he used to be. His journey through this story pulled them all together, and they all bring something to his recovery. He needs everything he got, even if there wasn't some grand finale with fireworks and promise rings. That's the end.
> 
> I can't believe the amount of love, kind words, amazing advice, and compliments that have been posted on this story. I can't tell you how many times I got an email with a new comment and it just made me so happy every time. So thank you very much for taking the time to make my day.
> 
> Onto War & Peace.  
> There will be blood.


	26. Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT ANOTHER CHAPTER!
> 
> I meant to add the playlist to the last chapter but I forgot so, here's a Spotify playlist with all the songs the chapters were named after in case anyone was curious about them.

-[Trial & Error Playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/dmitri_krushnic/playlist/6AanAhsfWApdDbpjDiwdcl)-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys again!


End file.
